Finding Courage
by DustyRabbit
Summary: The dwindling of the elves has begun, and a unwilling passenger travels to the Gray Havens for her last journey. But with her heart in turmoil and her faith wavering, can she find the courage to seek what she truly desires? Follow the lives of the elves of Rivendell as they struggle to find the path they were meant to follow. AU Non-canon
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Just exploiting the heavenly goodness that is Tolkien's world and its characters. To no profit but my own enjoyment.

 **Warning.** Emotional elves.

 **AN** Another alternate univers of 'what if's. Follow the familiar characters of Rivendell as they stumble into one mess after the other. Non-canon, but following a similar timeline. Artistic license needed a little tweeking to make it look right. So if it seems a little out of character, bare with me.

 **Edited** as of 17/7/2017

* * *

 **Finding Courage**

 **~: Chapter 1:~**

* * *

"Of days lingering in starlight... Days.. spent springing buds, our hearts... bathed in the balm of fading moonlight.."

He stopped and reread the last line twice before scribbling over it angrily with his charcoal pen, making another big mess of his note book. Heaving a sigh, he closed the small book and stuffed it back into his pocket.

The morning wind caught his hair, blowing chill tendrils down his neck which made him shiver.

Since when had autumn grown this cold?

His dark, almost black, grey eyes stared off into the surrounding woods.

Nature, green and overflowing, showed little signs of the oncoming winter. But he, as much as all the other elves around him, could feel the subtle shift. The trees had grown quiet. Almost like they were falling into slumber, hard pressed to pay attention to the band of elves travelling beneath their bows. The creatures of the forest, busy with stashing up on their food stores for the winter, moved swift and unseen though the foliage. Making use of each day until the big snows fall.

Yes, if it hadn't been for the very noticeable train of elves – some riding, others walking – making their way in silence, he would have thought himself to be part of the woods himself. For that was what Eru had made them out to be, one with nature.

A sudden trail of sorrowful song echoed through the trees, trickling through the leaves and trunks, once more making its presence known. Lindir, it seemed, had decided to grace them with another of his creations. The melody a fair, haunting tune that would resonate with each and every fëa present. A song of hardship and the approaching calm. The promise of long sought after peace.

Erestor willed his feet to move again as he followed the entourage that had set out to escort the daughter of his lord to the havens. A trip that had awoken mixed feelings in the household of Elrond Half-elven.

Not the least, in Erestor himself.

Long had the thought of sailing lingered on his mind...

He had grown old. Erestor _felt_ old. As impossible as it seemed for one of the firstborn, one blessed with eternal life, to feel tired of living. Erestor never viewed the order to sail as a punishment. No, he had volunteered, freely, to do his lord's bidding.

The world had grown too perilous for the elves of Middle Earth. Too wrought with danger to sustain life. How many years had it been since he had last seen any elflings running around? His kind no longer felt it safe to create life while the Dark Lord existed. Nor did Erestor blame them for not wanting to bring children into a world where evil could roam freely. How could he judge his lord for wishing his daughter to reach for safety? To be free of the ever present darkness that flooded Middle Earth?

He lifted his gaze, his eyes immediately finding the form of the Lady of Rivendell.

The Evenstar of their people.

Arwen, an elleth Erestor had watched sprout up from infancy into a fully fledged maiden of unrivalled beauty, was at this moment nothing more than a shadow of her true self. Her normally glowing form now faded, her inner light waning with the growing dark.

Erestor's hands balled into fists as he remembered the cause of her diminishing radiance.

For Arwen's already weak and far too kind heart now lay broken by one she had trusted beyond all. She, the hope of his race! Arwen's brilliant fire extinguished by the burning flame of the Second Born.

Estel really had no idea what he had done.

 _Estel_ , as he was called by his foster family, had grown far too dangerous and even worse, slipped past his notice.

Regret still tinged his heart as he thought of what he could have changed if he'd just been a bit more observant. Yet, in hindsight, would knowing have changed things?

Erestor had welcomed Estel into their household like a long awaited son, and look where it had brought them. The boy, once filled with life and innocence, had turned bitter with passing years. Responsibility beyond what could be carried by a single man's shoulders had brought him down on his knees, left him straining to keep himself afloat in the growing torrents of war.

For that was certain.

War was upon them, whether they want it or not.

The flames would spread, scorching earth far and wide. It would only be a matter of time before all the free peoples of Middle Earth were dragged into it.

Erestor watched Arwen where she sat atop of her grey horse. Her deep grey cloak tucked around her like a shield against the cruelty of the world. Her back, still straight but swaying slightly, struggling but failing to keep her fatigue from showing.

His eyes narrowed and he cast a calculating glance at the sky peeking through the heavy canopy above. For how long had they travelled without rest? Erestor would have to alert the guards. Compel them to settle for a break. Some time to rest their weary companions...

He strode over with determined steps to the captain, who had been put in charge of their safety during their voyage west.

"Haldoron." The captain turned around to meet him as he caught up to the guard. "When are we to rest? Some of us are growing weary. Not all are soldiers, trained for these lengthy exploits in the wild."

The captain seemed amused by the shorter advisor's veiled hint at the ellith that had started to straggle behind them. "We are due to break fast in an hour or so, but I can see if it is possible to stop at the next clearing, will that appease you?"

Erestor felt his lips thin at the taunt that lay in the voice.

He nodded silently, having accomplished what he had come for.

Turning back, he allows his eyes to trail along the wandering elves, a mix of males and females who had long since chosen to sail.

Being one who had suffered from hearing the call of the sea for decades, Erestor could easily pick out the familiar signs amongst his travelling companions. The glazed eyes, the unearthly glow that seemed to reverberate into their surroundings. The song, which although silent was as clear as the seagull's cry to him. Only those charged with escorting their Lady were free of the longing. Only those very few.. _and_ Arwen.

It stirred his soul to see the elleth so troubled. For although Arwen was showing signs of fading, her hroa (body) and fëa (soul) were very much still bound to these lands.

It was part of the reason Erestor had tried to reason with her father.

An unwilling fëa was hard to heal, even in the sacred gardens of Lorien. If Arwen could not accept the healing by leaving Arda and its ties behind, she could not abandon the pain that bound her to it. No matter how many years she spent wandering the fair gardens.

She would stop fading, yes. But the pain of her heart would never leave her.

Could Erestor condemn her to an eternity of such unrest?

He could only hope that her heart would see reason before they left shore. The grey water way was a one way passage. Once they were sailing there would be no turning back.

* * *

 **.oOo.**

A hand bearing a familiar shimmering grey stone, set in a band of silvery vines, came into view. The familiar hand held a wafer of lembas bread, which sweet smell made her stomach turn.

"Please, Arwen, you must eat something," the dejected voice said softly.

Her blue-grey eyes lifted from the ground and watched as Erestor – familiar, sweet Erestor – sat down beside her. His presence, though unlooked-for, made her gain a grain of calm in the turbulent storm of feelings she was caught up in.

She forced a smile unto her lips, knowing the elder elf was perceptive enough to pick up on her mood.

"I am not hungry, my friend," she said but still took the offered waybread, her voice weak after days of minimal food intake. Arwen could only force a small amount of the sweet, honey tasting wafer down her throat before her stomach started its protesting anew. She was certain Erestor had noticed her reluctance as he soon offered her his silvery pocket flask.

Arwen held the flask for a moment.

The glass, encased in veins of silver, was cool in her palm. The liquid inside, clear as the water from a sparkling spring, stared back at her from between the intricate silver work of tree branches.

"I cannot take this," she said softly. Arwen knew all to well the preciousness of the liquid held inside.

"Only a sip would suffice," Erestor said, urging her on. "Miruvor is far more healing than the water we have at hand, Arwen. I offer it to you freely."

She held his gaze for a moment. Her body battling with her mind. Miruvor was the elixir of her people, a wine painstakingly brewed by mixing healing herbs and nectar. Arwen knew its strengthening healing effects, and her body, for all her protests, craved it. She craved the ease it would give her, the calm it would bring her heart. But Arwen was also well aware of the fact that although it would strengthen her fëa, it would also weaken her resolve.

Reluctantly, she raised the flask to her lips, taking a short sip.

Immediately, Arwen felt the warmth of liquid sunshine fill her insides; her mood lifted and her strength returned. She sent him a grateful look, her slender hands no longer shaking as she returned the flask to him.

" _Arwen_.." He started as he hung the flask back around his throat, the thin silver chain digging into his neck. "You cannot go on like this. We have four weeks left of travel. Even if you ride, your strength is bound to falter if you do not eat." He grabbed one of her hands with his own, uncaring of propriety at the moment. "Plain Miruvor won't sustain you for long."

Arwen drew in a shaky breath.

She knew that it wouldn't. She knew that she couldn't go in this state. But what could she do? Her own father had turned her away, sent her on this journey she was not ready for. Not when her heart screamed at her that she was tearing it apart! She levelled her eyes with Erestor's. Wishing, not for the first time, that by gazing into their profound depths she could gather an inkling of hope, find some sign of what she should do.

"I do not know if I can do this," Arwen said in a whisper.

"I know, little one," Erestor comforted, his voice full of deep understanding. "Know that if it was up to me I would fly you back, hit that stubborn man until he regained his reasoning and force him to come back to you."

She laughed weakly at his words, and was in return graced with a impish smile from Erestor.

She saw Erestor lift his palms to her, long fingers standing pale in the morning light. "Though, considering how many weeks it would take me to track him down _and_ haul him back with these scholar hands, it would probably be quicker for you to search for him yourself."

Arwen, unable to resist any longer, burst into laughter.

Without thinking, she leaned forward, enfolding him in a clingy embrace. Her arms wrapped around his neck as she clung to him, the same way she used to as an elfling. Before manners and behaving like a proper lady became so important. Arwen drew all the strength she could from his familiar presence, the same safe haven that had comforted her so many times, long ago when she was small and still so easily hurt by her brothers' teasing.

She felt Erestor stiffen slightly at her sudden move, but he soon relaxed into it. His hands moving to hold her in return.

"I thought you had stopped wanting these when you came of age.." he murmured softly as his words became muffled by her flowing dark hair. "It seems my little Princess never really grew out of it after all."

Arwen closed her eyes, her mind recalling the familiar nickname Erestor had addressed her by as an elfling. She had been, in all but name, a princess whenever she was with Erestor. Such special care did he take to treat her like no other elfling, that Arwen had always felt like royalty when they spent time together. Erestor had always thought of her as the most important of Elrond's children. Perhaps because she was the youngest of them? Because she was more needy than her brothers? She really did not know why. Her mother always said Erestor held a certain warmth around her that hadn't been present with her brothers. Perhaps, that was the reason she felt so safe and comfortable in his arms?

"You know I love you, Erestor," Arwen said warmly, her voice regaining some of its former brightness.

"I know," he said, his arms tightening around her. "I love you too, Princess."

Arwen pulled away, her eyes big and watery as she trailed his face.

Again, she was overflowing. She really couldn't handle being this emotional. On some base level Arwen blamed her father, her peredhel (half-elf) heritage made her more susceptible to them. Searching his grey eyes, she asked him:

"Do you really wish to sail, Erestor?"

The ebony haired elf watched her intently, his eyes glazing over for a moment as the familiar ache settled inside him. Erestor released a long held breath as he touched her face, his thumb brushing away a tear that had managed to escape her eye.

"I have been ready to sail for years, Princess. Be it today or a hundred of years from now, nothing will change the fact that my heart is pulled by the sea." His eyes warmed for her, trying to stop the tears that now fell freely from her eyes. "I have had years to come to term with this. But I know I cannot expect you to have done the same."

Erestor, sweet Erestor.

Why did he have to be so understanding. Why did he never judge her? Arwen wiped her tears with her hands, knowing she probably looked quite the sight to those at camp. But her old friend's shared strength, his support was important to her. Perhaps, she would be able to pull through this after all?

 _Yes_ , Arwen thought, as she watched Erestor try to ease her sadness, his hand smoothing out her hair, _if Erestor was at her side, she could find strength to do anything._

* * *

 _ **# To be continued...**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer** a voluntary repudiation of a person's legal claim to something, which, in this case, includes all orignal work made by Tolkien. There, gave you one!

 **Warning.** Speeding horses.

 **Edited** as of 17/7/2017.

* * *

 **Finding Courage**

 **~: Chapter 2 :~**

* * *

She felt tired again. Her whole body ached with an ancient tiredness that she had only thought possible in the stories of old. An familiar ache had settled in her chest and it strove to drive her mad with its sharp twinges. They had been on the road for almost four weeks now since leaving Imladris and the fatigue of travel, added with the pain of her heartbreak, was wearing down on her.

Arwen knew that her state had not gone unnoticed amongst her companions.

There was a growing unease in the band of elves. But none, save for Lindir and Erestor, had addressed her in concern.

 _Erestor_ , her old friend and mentor, a brother to her in all but blood, hovered more and more over her as of late. It was comforting, but at the same time she felt suffocated. Her fëa was already burdened by the pain of love lost. Arwen didn't want to feel guilt for worrying her friend as well.

Still, it seemed she had no control over her mind.

Recently, Arwen had noticed her mind would drift from the present, instead choosing to show her memories. For days, she had been tortured with the memories of those few fateful days when her whole life had been upturned, never to be the same again. The _first_ , when she was turned away by her love, rejected and utterly crushed by the one she had thought would never hurt her. The _second_ , when she faced the harsh reality depicted in stone by her father, his overbearing presence not softening the cold, hard truth in the slightest.

She had cried then.

Arwen had wept numerous bitter tears.

She cried for herself, for Estel and for her father. For forcing them to choose, not knowing if they would ever see each other again. For making her flee for the safety of the blessed lands when her family – her own flesh and blood – remained behind in the growing darkness, uncertain if they themselves would survive.

Arwen grieved the unfairness of it all. Logically, she knew her father had only done what he thought was best for her; for her to meet her kin, to rejoin her mother across the sea, safe in peaceful lands. But why was she always the one? Why was her safety valued above all others? Had she not also been trained to handle a sword, to work a bow and to ride her horse? She may be an elleth, but she was in no way a helpless maiden.

Again, the long seething anger boiled inside her. Unreasonable and untamed. And once again she cursed her emotional nature. The burning emotions that would chill into ice in a heart beat, the up and downs that would tire her out far faster than she had time to rest.

Shaking herself, she steadied her gaze, holding her head high in her hood as she stared forward. The trail was strait now, nothing more than a deer trail in the woods and as such it would go unnoticed by most eyes. A travel road of elves, long since ground into place by band after band of sailing elves. Her group was not the first and certainly not the last to use this path. Her kin are leaving these shores, their numbers dwindling each year.

She tried to picture the image of the billowing sea, the glittering surface lit by the sunset. The great, white ship laying there in wait for her, its sails moving in the breeze. Arwen had seen the sea once, when her mother sailed. It had seemed full of mystery then, so full of promise. But there was no longing. Not the sensation she always heard other elves struck by sea longing speak of. Even her mother, in her distraught state of mind following her capture by orcs, had displayed the same longing.

The strong longing for peace that the sea offered.

Her head snapped to attention as she felt a sudden chill run down her spine.

Her skin was prickling and there was a strange energy in the air. None of the elves around her seemed to notice, however, so she drew a deep breath in order to remain seated on her horse.

Light beamed through the canopy above, lighting a glen to her right.

A soft rustling started drawing her attention and Arwen felt her lungs freeze as a small boy, dressed in a light shirt and breeches ran straight across their path into the lit glen. Her heart thundered as she watched him run and the surrounding forest fade into white stone. T

The merrily laughing child launched himself into the outstretched hands of what Arwen had to believe was his father. The man gathered the child to him before spinning him around with outstretched arms, heartfelt laughter leaving him as they spun with joy.

Mesmerised by the sight, and though her mind had not yet registered it, her heart started to cry out towards them. Before Arwen knew it a tear trailed down her cheek and the full meaning of the scene struck her as she watched familiar man and the oh so wonderful mixture of features that made up the little boy's face.

It was only a moment and then her heart was wrenched out of her chest. Leaving her breathless and bewildered as reality once more fell in place around her.

He _lied_.

Her head was spinning and Arwen clutched at her chest while her other gripped the reins painfully tight. There was a sea storming inside her and Arwen felt sure she would be swallowed up by it.

They had lied to her.

* * *

 **.oOo.**

There was a sudden ruckus and he heard one of the guards shout further along the line.

Erestor barely had the time to gather himself before a large grey steed sped past him, weaving through tree trunks and dipping off the trail into the woods behind him. His eyes remained wide as they caught the glint of Arwen's brooch and he felt his heart drop.

An out of breath Lindir reached him, clinging onto Erestor's shoulder.

"My Lord! Lady Arwen!" Lindir panted, his face wrought with exertion since he had run from the front of the line where he had walked beside his lady. "I could not stop her!"

But Erestor didn't hear him.

His mind was already racing with the fact that Arwen was out there – in the wild! – alone. Then he did a thing he hadn't done for a millenia, at least: _Stopped thinking_!

"My Lord..?" Lindir watched shocked as the former advisor pulled out of his grasp and acquired himself a horse from one of the walking elves. "Erestor!?"

Erestor mounted the horse, his feet finding the stirrups easily and nudged the gelding into action.

 _There is still time._

He could still catch up to her.

Erestor heard Lindir's calls grow more distant and he felt the heavy weight of responsibility settling in his stomach. The same feeling he felt the first time he held the pink, wriggling bundle little more than two millenia ago.

A branch snapped across his face, leaving a thin bleeding cut in its wake. The sting of the cut went unnoticed, however, as adrenaline coursed through him. Making his heart pump harder. Erestor made the horse dodge fallen trees and stray rocks in his path, the elven steed easily finding purchase on the forest floor. He was practically racing through the forest, but Erestor knew that his speed was not fast enough considering his charge's own mount.

He cursed the fact that he had been grounded in Imladris for far too long.

Long years without riding left him clumsy in the ways of leading a horse, in finding the quickest, most appropriate path. Erestor dreaded the fact that he wouldn't catch up with Arwen in time. That he would lose her and that Arwen, in her distraught state, would injure herself. The peredhil were, after all, not famed for their levelheaded personality when ruled by their emotions.

Erestor pulled his horse in, slowing him, as he passed into another clearing.

He searched the ground, scanning it for broken strands of grass, disturbed soil – anything really – that could tell him which way to continue. His tracking skills were outdated and rusty to say the least and he gasped with relief when he caught the sure signs of hoof marks in a patch of softer soil.

He followed the trail, his whole body on high alert and could only hope that the elleth hadn't already done something foolish.

Meeting another rocky cliff, Erestor veered the horse to the right and frowned. By the winding pattern of Arwen's trail Erestor reasoned she was unfamiliar with her current surroundings. But, even though Arwen didn't know where she was, Erestor knew that her brothers had drilled Arwen with enough survival skills to let her know how to orientate herself. The fact that Arwen was not headed northeast, the way they had come, was worrying. In fact, Erestor quickly found out that they were steadily making their way south, away from the hidden valley.

 _Elrond_ , Erestor thought as he drove his horse forward along the rocky path, _what have your daughter gotten herself into?_

* * *

 **.oOo.**

Arwen stopped once she reached a large, flowering field. The trees had been thinning out for the last half hour and now she knew why. She swept her grey-blue eyes over the plain, wondering what she would find on the other side of it.

She had taken off without a thought to how her guards – her friends! – would take her abandoning of them. But Arwen had been driven by pure need. Her emotions were still high and thus, her head was still swimming with thoughts of her father's betrayal. He, if anyone, should have been honest with her!

Her mind had, in the middle of her panic, concluded the truth of her predicament.

Arwen knew instinctively that the boy and the older version of Estel had been a vision. Her father and grandmother were both gifted with foresight, even her brother Elladan had experienced visions before, even if his were nonsensical. It would not seem strange that she should have them as well...

The notion that Arwen had seen a part of her possible future made her skin crawl.

Long had she heard her father speak of the dangers of foresight, a gift that he had counted as both a blessing and a curse for all the long years she had known him. Now Arwen knew why her father felt that way about it. Arwen had been given nothing more than a glimpse, a moment in time, and already she had found hope renewed. Something she had long since thought lost.

It made warmth curl inside her again. But at the same time filled her with dread. It was a cursed feeling, because Arwen knew visions were only one path of many. A possible future that may not come to pass. A hope, which was fragile and easily snatched away.

Arwen shook her head, her mind a muddled mess.

Checking the sky, she found that she had only a few hours at most before the whole forest would be covered in darkness. Night was near and if it was one thing Arwen had learned while following her brothers around, it was that you always needed to prepare for the unthinkable.

Looking at her pack, Arwen saw that particular piece of knowledge had been forgotten in her haste to flee. She had her pack of belongings and her sword, which was good. But she had brought little edible goods, other than an a pouch of her favorite apples and a skin of water. She was set for the moment, but before long, Arwen would be hard pressed to find food.

For once, she was glad for her loss of appetite as it meant that her meager provisions would last a bit longer.

"Come on, Gildin." She urged her horse on, her legs hugging his sides so as to not fall off as Gildin set off into a trot.

Reassured that she had a plan, Arwen started her way along the tree line, avoiding the wide open space of the field. She did not want to put herself at risk and with dusk rapidly approaching, danger would always be lurking nearby.

Reaching a smaller outcropping of trees, Arwen deemed one tree strong enough to host her for the night. Both she and her horse were tired enough to appreciate its simplistic form of shelter. The ample coverage of the tree and its wide-spread branches would keep them hidden and dry for the night.

Arwen reasoned it wise to stop for a few hours.

A night of rest would do them both good and perhaps give her some clarity to her thoughts.

* * *

 _ **#To be continued...**_


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer** I do not own anything Man, Dwarf or Elf ever to walk Arda. There. I will not _cry!_

 **Warning _._** Excessive ponderings.

 **AN** Going haywire. Try to hang on to your ride.

 **Edited** as of 17/7/2017

* * *

 **Finding Courage**

 **~: Chapter 3 :~**

* * *

After his first night spent strung up a tree listening to the animals of the wood the entire night, Erestor had to say he felt absolutely miserable.

His nerves had offered him no sleep last night, for his mind was far too occupied with providing him horrible images of Arwen injured or worse, dead, whenever he accidentally nodded off. No, Erestor had not slept. But he felt rested enough to know he could handle another day's worth of harsh riding.

His new friend, the black gelding with white stockings that Erestor had renamed Beren, did however seem rejuvenated after a whole night's worth of resting and munching on the forest delicacies.

Erestor approached the horse slowly, well aware that the horse was still young enough to bolt from one as unfamiliar to him as himself. He patted Beren gently, handing him a piece of fruit from his own breakfast before mounting the beast.

He had been happily surprised at his own luck yesterday when he found out that the horse he had snagged in all haste before he left carried a packload of waybread and other provisions. He still felt some guilt for having taken what would surely have been days of provisions for at least five elves. Hopefully, they had enough left to continue their journey, if the party hadn't turned around and headed back towards Rivendell already.

In his heart, Erestor knew that someone had to have been sent back to Imladris by now to inform Lord Elrond of Arwen's escapade. He could even imagine some of the guard following their trail. Just the notion that Elrond would find out about his failure to keep his daughter safe on such a short journey made Erestor's stomach turn. Especially since Erestor had promised Elrond that he would see Arwen safely to the Havens in his stead. Now, knowing that his friend would be stuck in Rivendell, worrying himself to pieces, Erestor felt even more guilty because of his failure.

After all, he should have expected the Arwen to do something like this.

It was ingrained in their genes, this impulsiveness that would forever drive Erestor mad throughout the ages. Elrond has had millennia to perfect his skill in curbing it, but his children were still young. What was worse was that Erestor knew had it been the twins Erestor would have taken this fact into account. But Erestor had once again fallen for the image of innocence and purity that was Arwen, his own little Princess.

He had been such a fool.

Erestor made his way through a particularly dense part of the woods. His eyes picking out the signs of her passing. Arwen couldn't be more than a couple of hours ahead of him. Something that brought Erestor hope. He would, after all, need all the luck he could get to catch up with her.

His mind reminded him constantly that this was Arwen he was chasing.

 _Arwen_ , who was lighter than most and a skilled rider taught by Glorfindel himself. In fact, the golden haired seneschal had given Arwen her horse himself, stating that the lady deserved a horse worthy a queen. And what better a horse than one bred from the King of the Imladrian horses – Asfaloth – himself?

Erestor shook his head in dismay.

The irony that he would have to chase Asfaloth's prized foal with a common gelding did not go lost on him. He reminded himself to reprimand Glorfindel when he returned, if only to save himself from having to repeat this ridiculous chase once again.

It wasn't until midday that Erestor reached what must have been her resting site from the previous night.

The place showed enough to reassure him that Arwen had indeed rested and Erestor was extremely relieved when he found the abandoned apple core nestled in the tall grass by the tree.

She had eaten, which was a good sign.

He stared down the path of the field.

No horse shadow moved in the high grass and Erestor was once again conflicted. Arwen must have ridden across the field all morning, making haste on her path south. There was no longer any doubt that Arwen knew where she was going. Erestor knew, that being in such a wide open space, Arwen should have easily been able to pick out which way was North and which direction was South. She had chosen to ride the southern route willingly, and it made the uneasy ball in his stomach curl even tighter.

What could she possibly want in the south?

Recalling his large map from his study in Imladris, Erestor knew that the only place south of where they were was Eriador. She would reach the Green Way fast enough and it would not be hard to follow it south from there.

Erestor felt a sudden nausea sweep over him as he thought of how the road south would eventually take her to the Gap of Rohan, a stones throw away from Gondor.

 _Gondor_.. Erestor had spoken of many distant lands of late while counseling Elrond. Gondor had always been brought up in one way or another. His lord was often very secretive with his thoughts and especially so when it concerned things he had seen through his gift. But Erestor didn't need Elrond to say it out loud to know that Gondor was a vital place, which weighed heavily on Elrond's mind of late.

Erestor was of course knowledgeable of the connection between Elrond and his twin brother's distant kin.

It was the main reason Elrond had taken it upon himself to shelter and foster most of Isildur's heirs in his own house. Erestor had watched Elrond harbour and nurture that specific bloodline for centuries and even Erestor had grown a certain amount of attachment to the children that had been taken into their care.

His eyes widened as he drove his horse into a stop.

 _Estel!_ He berated himself. _Why had he not thought of this earlier?_

 _Aragorn, son of Arathorn._ Estel's real name, and the only man who could claim the title of Isildur's heir. When Estel set out on the quest to destroy the ring Elrond must have known it would take him to Gondor eventually. Why would he otherwise state that ridiculous condition for Estel to win Arwen's hand?

Erestor felt his mind swirl as he remembered the day Arwen had rushed to him, in tears, telling him of her father's impossible request.

Elrond had put a task so unreasonable before Estel that all hope of him ever succeeding was made into naught. Elrond had been clear that he would not let any man less than the king of Gondor and Arnor reunited marry his daughter. A fact that had driven the youth into the ground trying to prove himself to his foster father.

Now, it seemed only logical that Arwen would flee to Gondor, the one place she where was sure to find her love, rather than to Rivendell, where her father would surely try to send her west again. Erestor sighed, inwardly praising his little Princess that had grown up far too fast for his liking. Arwen had become an elleth no longer caring for her own safety, but instead took her destiny into her own hands, trying to forge a path for herself and her love. It was a noble quest, he had to admit, but would she survive it?

It made Erestor feel older than ever before when he realised that he had unwittingly turned a cold eye to this passionate, lively elleth who fought so hard for her own beliefs. Had he and Elrond really become so blind to what she had become? Or had they deliberately turned their gaze away, choosing to keep their image of the helpless child she had once been?

For once, Erestor was glad that he had not married and sired children of his own. How was he to raise them properly when he couldn't even manage the ones that were fully grown?

Casting his eye on the sun that stood high in the sky he decided that he would no longer play oblivious to his loved ones' desires. He would watch them grow and see them safely through this age, even if it made him wait years for Valinor. Erestor swore he would have his whole family gathered again, happy and safe back home in Rivendell.

He promised.

* * *

 **.oOo.**

The night was still cool when she pressed on.

Arwen had a sense of unease in her heart that wouldn't abate throughout the day. It settled around her like electricity, making her alert and sensitive to even the slightest sounds or miniscule shifts in the wind. It felt strange to her, that after having spent five days in the wild on her own, she would come to be this attuned to her instincts.

Elladan, the eldest of the Elrondion twins, had always told her to trust her instincts. That they could be the difference between life and death. An instinct well honed is the greatest weapon an elf could have and using it was something most elven warriors prided themselves for.

Arwen, being a lady of her father's court, did not have nearly enough training to hone her instincts like those of a true warrior. But after this experience she could at least feel the flickers of danger that spiked through her every now and then. It was the very reason why Arwen had pushed her horse on mercilessly for the entire afternoon and following evening.

Now, riding with the wind in her face and her hair flowing behind her, she wondered about her choices. Had she made the right choice? She had weighed her options back and forth over the days, and decided that she could not go back.

She just couldn't.

There was a lingering sense of betrayal that would rear its ugly head whenever she thought of home. It hurt, how she could no longer feel comfortable knowing that her father – her own father! – had lied to her. Yes, he had kept the truth from her and he had done it without regret knowing that she would not oppose him once she felt that all was lost. Arwen realised that her safety was important to him, but was it really necessary to force her hand like this?

At least, if he had told her the whole truth, they could have discussed it and perhaps reached a better solution. Arwen would not have been against negotiation, she would have even settled for sailing at a later date, should the free people fail in their cause. All that she knew was that she could not honestly leave Arda without at least trying to help Aragorn.

She could not leave him to his fate unaided.

 _Aragorn_.. Her beloved Estel who she had fallen in love with, felt her destiny merge together with his when she first laid her eyes on him. Her heart had been stolen then, even if she had not yet realised it herself.

He had been so sweet back then. A young man barely out of his teens and so much a child to her. He had likened her to Luthien and Arwen had instantly thought that he could very well be Beren himself. She had felt drawn to the man, weighed down by his name and heritage. A man that fought for his own place in the world against his fate.

He had come clean with her, trusting his true self to her and not even bothered to hide his true identity. It was not until long after their initial meeting when she was already well on her way falling for him completely, that they had found out that Aragorn was in fact Estel, the young ward of Elrond Half-elven, and she Arwen, the prized daughter of his foster father Aragorn had never met.

Arwen would not lie to herself.

She had been shocked to find out that the man she loved had been the little ball of mischief her brothers spoke so fondly of on their occational visits to Lothlorien. Arwen had always pictured Estel as a child, as she had often seen the other heirs of Isildur her father had harboured.

How could she have known that this man, Aragorn son of Arathorn, would catch her heart with a single poem, a sincere smile and his incredibly warm, steel grey eyes?

Even to this day, her heart fluttered at the memory of their meeting.

Their time together was priceless and oh so sweet, Arwen would never trade it for anything. Indeed, to her it seems it was fated for them to meet that day. She could honestly not thank the Valar enough for making him happen upon her in the glen that day.

She was brought out of her happy thoughts by a sound she had dreaded ever since Arwen had left their party so many days ago.

A distant howl resounded behind her and the darkness was no help in calming her nerves. She had passed into a more wooded area now, but being out in the open no longer soothed her fears. For Arwen knew that where one howl sounded there were most likely more to follow.

She had no intention of finding out how many followed her, though.

Urging her mount on, Arwen swished between the trees like a grey shadow. Faintly holding on to hope that the beasts would quickly lose interest in her and give up before the night was over.

* * *

 _ **#To be continued...**_


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer.** Still not mine.

 **Warning.** Violence, blood and yuck... Well you get the gist of it.

 **Edited** as of 17/7/2017.

* * *

 **Finding Courage**

 **~: Chapter 4 :~**

* * *

Ragged breaths and low growling could be heard in between the howls. The chase continued long into the night and Arwen no longer knew how long she could outlast them. Gildin was panting beneath her, his large chest heaving with exertion as he leapt through the wooded area, turning sharply and changing course now and then to try to confuse their followers.

Arwen felt like death himself was nipping at her heels as she drove her horse forward, whispering strengthening words to her magnificent beast. They fled through a thicket of branches, her cloak catching on one of the wooden arms and ripping. The sound was sharp in the night and she hoped it had gone unnoticed.

The wargs herded her as best they could, for these beasts were far smarter than their forest kin of wolves. Wargs always hunted in packs, using stealth and numbers to bring down their prey. To them, a single horse would have been an easy meal, had Arwen not made her horse jump a crevice to put some distance between them.

In that moment, when she and Gildin had soared over the crack in the ground, it felt like her whole body left her. She experienced true fear knowing that she had to choose between either jumping och perishing. It was only for a second, but that moment was long enough for a flash of Aragorn to appear in the back of her mind. Her heart and soul called out to him desperately in hope of seeing him one last time.

Then, Gildin's hooves found purchase on the other side, once again regaining his momentum and speeding off. Her breath returned to her and the white light that shone inside her mind ebbed back into the present night again.

But her daring stunt did not keep them away for long.

Now, an hour later, she was back to page one. Arwen gave a frustrated cry as she abandoned the protection of the trees for the speed of the open plain, steering Gildin out into the open field in hope of gaining that much needed distance again.

What she did not expect was for the pack of wargs to have split up, sending one group ahead of her to cut her off.

Her horse reared into the air as the foul beast of a warg stalked them from the front. Flashing teeth.

Arwen had to cling to her reins to keep herself seated on Gildin's back. Her body reeling with the abrupt stop. The two wargs that caught them were shortly joined by the others as they started to circle them.

The foul beasts growled at them.

Slobber dripped from their mouths and lolling tongues hung out as if they could already taste them. The tension within their ranks ran high and one warg snapped at another, clearly stating his claim in the hierarchy. Its big, yellow eyes never leaving their forms.

Gildin twitched beneath her and Arwen knew from the tenseness in the muscles beneath her that the horse had a mind to sprint off in panic, despite the training he had been given by Glorfindel. Arwen rallied him by making him turn in a circular movement, keeping his gaze on the closest warg at all times. Trying to keep him calm she rubbed the taut muscles in his neck, but the corded flesh was like steel beneath her fingers, hot and sweaty and oh so ready to leap into action that the nervosity almost rubbed off on her unwillingly.

They were caught.

Her mind screamed at her that they were done for, but her heart refused to give up.

Drawing her elven blade, a sword shorter than the average elf's but none the less deadly, Arwen watched in fascination as it gleamed coldly in the moonlight. The sight of the shining steel made her attackers back off slightly, telling her that these beasts knew the icy bite of an elven blade well.

She felt a speck of courage slip into her as she saw their uncertainty. Her back straightening to make her form stand even taller.

 _Fear_. Such a primitive emotion turned out to be the key to her survival. Her heart thundered in her breast and her breath steadied into an almost mechanical circle of inhales and exhales. The long, even breaths calmed her more than anything and made her nerves focus on the inevitable truth: She would have to slay these beasts if she wished to live.

Years of lady training abandoned her and only the pure essence of a peredhel remained.

She became a mixture of strength and boiling emotions. Arwen had no limitations and the adrenaline that spurred her emotions on only served to make her feel even more in control. She became embedded in a cold rage, one Arwen had often seen on her brothers faces whenever they spoke of orcs, and she knew it was her instincts preparing her for what was to come.

It was then the wargs lost their patience.

One launched itself at her, not caring for the threatening blade in her hands. She swung her sword, keeping it at a distance and drew a loud wine from the beast as she cut it through its thick neck. It fell with a thump to the grass, causing further agitation in the group.

Gildin was not one to be left behind, his back legs kicking out at their attackers and even hitting one, causing a nauseating _crack_. Arwen almost bit her tongue due to the horse's jerky movements but continued their dance together, slashing to one side while the horse pivoted towards the other.

She managed to bring another two down before she was thrown off her horse, one of the wargs bowling into Gildin and sending him to the ground. She winced hearing the pained whinny of her horse, but she had no time to check on him as she was immediately assaulted by one of the smaller wargs that had waited for its chance to strike.

It snapped at her face, but bit into the forearm she raised for protection instead. Its teeth shredded the fabric of her long sleeve and made the skin underneath bleed. Unprepared for the sheer strength of the beast, Arwen was pulled to the ground, landing herself into an even more precarious position. She used her legs as leverage between them, sinking them into the beast's softer stomach as she kicked it away. It growled at her furiously, biting hold of her ankle once she aimed another kick at its foul snout.

Arwen cried out as the pain flooded her when she felt the snap of the delicate bones of her leg. Her hands searched for her sword, realising she must have dropped it when she was dragged to the ground. Tears filled her eyes as her hand clawed the area around her but found only dirt and grass.

Desperate, Arwen grabbed one of the stones beside her head and chucked it at the warg's head, hoping to do some damage.

Arwen was so drawn into her struggles that she didn't notice the sound of hooves reverberating through the ground. The call of her name ringed through the air, followed by the sharp sound of a blade being drawn.

There was a sudden flash of steel and before she knew it, blood was surging at her from the severed neck of the beast. Her leg dropped heavily to the ground, the warg's head still clinging to her ankle and Arwen felt an inescapable wave of nausea wash over her.

Twisting around, she shifted her weight onto her injured arms and dry heaved on the ground.

Her empty stomach convulsed and the pressure of it all put tears in her eyes. She stayed that way for what in the heat of the moment felt like an eternity, shaking as she rode out wave after wave, her mind faintly registering the sounds of battle going on around her.

It took but minutes before the field seemed to calm and everything fell silent.

All that could be heard was Gildin's laboured breathing and an almost soundless panting. Her own heart was still racing and Arwen could still hear the rush of blood in her ears.

Then there was movement and the jaws around her leg stirred in her flesh.

Flashes of what she had just been through flickered before her eyes. Thinking another beast had gotten to her Arwen let out a fearful shriek as she panicked, her legs kicking out furiously. But it didn't scare the perpetrator off!

 _Am I to be eaten now by some heartless scavenger coming for the leftovers!?_

She flailed her arms, struggling in protest at her new fate. But was soon engulfed in a strong embrace. Arwen twisted in the grasp, not caring that it made the pain wrecking her body worse. Soft hushing noises reached her ears causing her breath to hitch as she opened her closed eyes to find her face buried in slightly matted dark hair.

"It's alright, Arwen.. You are safe." the soft voice coaxed at her as if speaking to a spooked animal.

She couldn't believe her ears, there had to be some kind of mistake! But the scent of ink and old books that filled her senses did not lie to her. Arwen trembled as she raised her uninjured arm to anchor her fingers in the dirty tunic beneath her. Her whole being soaking in the other's presence.

"You are safe, Princess. I'm here now."

Arwen let out a wretched sob as she started to cry into Erestor's chest. He had come for her. _Erestor_ , who wouldn't take up a sword even when Glorfindel tried to bait him into doing it, had come for her.

He had chased and saved her.

She wasn't alone!

* * *

 **.oOo.**

Erestor couldn't put into words the relief he felt right now, holding Arwen safely in his arms. He thought his heart would stop when he found her, trapped between a rabid warg and the hard ground and for the first time in a long while Erestor felt his old warrior persona resurface.

The side of him that Erestor had left behind after the Last Alliance, never to look back on again, sprung up from his repressed memories with such force he was taken aback by it all. His body worked on auto-pilot. His mind never really registering what happened past the point of severing the warg's head and thus ensuring Arwen's survival.

The rest was a distant blur.

Erestor had come to in the middle of the gory reality, his heart racing and his sword buried deep into the trunk of a warg. Its bloody insides already spilled unto the ground.

Pulling his sword free, still a little off balance and in a bit of a daze from the fighting, Erestor saw Gildin's proud form. The grey steed had managed to pull itself up again from the ground, his own horse already poking him with his muzzle as if checking up on him. Having found the horse but not the rider Erestor searched the field for Arwen.

When he reached her, she was understandably distraught enough to think him the enemy. It took some time to get her to calm down. But soon enough Erestor had her wrapped safely in his arms, crying her heart out.

He brushed her hair down, allowing her the time she needed to come to terms with the situation. He did not know what she had gone through these last few days, and he wasn't sure if he really wanted to find out either. All Erestor could think of at this moment was the vision of her being a hairsbreadth away from death. It had shaken him to the core and Erestor found himself tightening his hold on her further.

 _How close had he been to losing her? To see his little Princess pass beyond the circles of these lands? Is this what Elrond felt constantly, ever since Arwen confessed to him about her love for Aragorn?_

Emotions warred inside him, he did not want let go but at the same time he needed to make sure Arwen was alright. His eyes had already taken note of her injured arm and fractured leg. He would need to tend to them quickly, unless he wanted an infection to take root. Decided, Erestor pulled away, causing the now exhausted elleth to look up at him bleary and puffy eyed.

"I am of the mind to give you a good scolding, little one. But your injuries has saved you from it for now," Erestor said sternly, though his eyes were filled with concern for her. "I need to see to your injuries. Do you think you can stand?"

He watched as Arwen resurfaced from whatever daze she had fallen in, her features strained as she started to push herself up from the ground. Erestor was glad his body was still on alert as he swiftly reacted when Arwen stumbled, taking a steadying hold of her arm.

"How is it?"

Blue-grey eyes stared back at him. "Painful."

There was truth in her word. Not only did the pain show on her face, but the way Arwen had bit out the word gave him no doubt about it. Worry over the fact that the break might be worse than he initially suspected made Erestor pull her weight up against him. Leaving most of it off her injured leg.

He turned his eyes to look over the field littered with the bodies of the wargs. Their foul smell of death and carnage would surely draw others to them. They would have to move somewhere a little more protected if he was to reset the bones in her leg.

Without warning, Erestor bent and lifted Arwen up into a princess hold. Being especially careful of jarring her leg. The motion in itself caused her to release a surprised and pained shout. Arwen flung her arms around his neck, suddenly afraid she would fall.

"What are you doing?" She bit out slowly, embarrassed by the position she found herself in.

"We need to get moving," Erestor said as he started to stride over towards Beren. This seemed to confuse her, so he explained: "Gildin may be able to stand but he has injured his front leg. He wont be able to carry any heavy weight for some time yet." He scanned the dark around them for gleaming eyes. "You will ride with me."

As such, Erestor deposited her atop of his horse gently. Smiling when he saw her fingers tangling into the horse's dark mane. It reminded him of the time he would watch her ride her pony, when Arwen was but an elfling just learning to ride bareback.

He released a quick whistle, calling Gildin to him.

The white steed made his way over slowly, clearly favoring his left leg. Erestor allowed Gildin to sniff his palm for moment, meanwhile commending the horse on his bravery. Erestor might have cursed his luck that it was Gildin that he chased earlier, but now that he had found them running from a pack of wargs, Erestor couldn't have been more grateful for the steed's swift nature.

Erestor felt Arwen's gaze on him as he murmured to Gildin, but he chose not comment on it. She was injured and tired. He could allow her eyes to stray to him for comfort for the time being.

After unloading the packs from Gildin, he threw one up over his shoulder and fastened another to Beren's saddle. Mounting, Erestor wrapped a steadying arm around Arwen as he nudged the horse forward with his boots.

The sudden movement caused Arwen to look up.

"What of Gildin?" she asked uncertainly, her eyes glassy from pain.

"I asked him to follow us and he will, he is well trained and intelligent enough to pace himself adequetly. By allowing him to run free he will be able to move the way that is the least painful for him."

Arwen made a small sound of understanding. Leaning her head back against his chest. "What did you say to him?" Erestor cocked a brow at her, and she explained: "I did not understand the words you were speaking.."

"Ah.." Erestor said, turning his gaze back on the road, a note of amusement in his voice. "I was speaking in Quenya. I tried to introduce it to you when you were little, but you were as uninterested in learning it as your brothers."

"Quenya.." Arwen tried the word on her tongue, her brow furrowing. "That is grandmother's native tongue."

"Yes. Few use it, other than in writing or poetry. It is the old high elven tongue of the Noldor, which is used across the sea." He felt the curiosity rising from the elleth in front of him. "I sometimes use it unconsciously. It is more practical to use Sindarin in conversation, makes it easier to communicate with our eastern kin."

"But you know it.. because you are of the Noldor?"

"I grew up learning it." Erestor smiled down at her. He rarely talked about his childhood and only Glorfindel knew enough of it to know why. "I do enjoy forcing your father or Glorfindel to use it now and then. Just to keep their skills from rusting."

Arwen settled, her fingers playing absently with the horse's mane, enjoying the feel of the soft tresses. "You really are old, my friend."

"Oh, well it is good you know it. Now I can finally expect to be treated with the respect I deserve as your elder," he said with faked superiority.

She leaned her head further back on his chest, her eyes finding the playful smile on his lips and the glinting light in his dark grey eyes. Trust Erestor to try to bring her spirits back up even under the worst of circumstances. Arwen was well aware of what Erestor was doing. He was trying to distract her from the pain of her leg by keeping her occupied with conversation. Leaning into him, Arwen let herself be swept away by his words until she felt the horse halt.

The gelding turned sideways restlessly as they paused. Arwen was just about to ask why they had stopped when she caught sight of Gildin, her brave steed, climbing the slope with great effort and she felt her heart ache.

She had caused this.

She had led him to be attacked by wargs and the horse had stood by her side selflessly all the way. Working hard to protect its mistress.

Erestor felt her shake and did not have to see it to know Arwen was crying again. His insides turned at the force of her sorrow. "He will be alright, Arwen. I checked him over, it is a sprain, probably from the fall. He will need to rest it for a while, but it will heal."

Arwen calmed somewhat hearing Erestor's words.

She had been afraid Gildin was too injured to be saved. Glorfindel had told her that she had to be careful with horses. They were strong animals, but if they broke a leg, there was almost nothing they could do for them in the field. She had once heard Elrohir speaking of having to put down one of his horses because of a break. Arwen's worst fears had therefore been that she would have to do the same to Gildin, a horse that had found a special place in her heart.

She stayed silent as they continued down the other side of the hill.

Erestor had dismounted and was now leading the horses down by hand very slowly. The night was dark and vision poor. Erestor, with his superior elven sight, guided them through the night. Arwen had no idea where they were going, but Erestor seemed to have a goal in mind and she wouldn't protest, as long as she was allowed to rest now and then.

It was only after Erestor had led their little band far from the field and deeper into the surrounding forest that he deemed it safe to search for shelter. What they found was a small outcropping of rocks, nestled on the other side of the forest. The formation provided enough cover and protection from the elements. There was also sufficient grass and vegetation for the horses on the surrounding grassland. The high grass would easily hide a resting horse from view.

Erestor turned to Arwen. "I will search out the premises. Wait here." He already had his sword on his hip and he moved down a ways before glancing back. "If anything scares you, shout out for me and if need be, take Beren and ride to safety. He will listen to you."

Then he was gone, his form slipping through the treeline and disappearing from view.

Arwen held on tighter to the horse's mane. Beren, she reminded herself. Erestor had named this horse Beren. Was it irony that she would be carried by the namesake of her forefather? By the memory of a man so alike in fate to that of Aragorn?

She didn't have time to delve any deeper into that train of thought before Erestor reappeared around a tree trunk. His face was neutral and he gave her a smile as a sign that the coast was clear. He called out to the horses and they started to slowly walk over.

Once they broke through the trees, Arwen's eyes widened at the sight before her. The outcropping was at the edge of the hill and the rock formation was tall against the sky. The most rewarding sight was that the sun was dawning on the far off horizon. It's long, warm arms spreading across the sky, tinting the sky with blushing shades of pink and red.

Erestor helped her dismount and then carried her over to a seat made of soft grass covered by his cloak.

"Thank you.." She said, her eyes relaying her appreciation.

"Do not worry about it," said Erestor. He begun removing the horses' packs, relieving them of their gear that had been forced upon them for days now. After seeing to the horses, he carefully set about making a small fire in the sheltered space between the rocks.

Arwen watched the flask placed in her lap, the silver design mocking her. The miruvor flask had lost a significant amount of the elixir since she had last seen it. She realized that it had been her running away that had forced her friend to exert himself enough to have to resort to the brew. The guilt she felt inside grew even stronger.

Now, in the light of dawn, Arwen could see Erestor's visage more clearly.

The normally pristine councillor was a mess of dirty clothing with scratches that littered his arms and face. She didn't even want to comment on the work that had been made to his hair. Arwen could honestly say that she had never seen the darkhaired elf this disheveled before.

For all his outward cheeriness, there was a lingering tiredness in his posture, in the way he held his head, that made her uncomfortable. Arwen had never intended to make any trouble for anyone. But really, did she expect that they would simply let her run off?

She shook her head.

Erestor's devotion to her made her feel warm inside. She had always thought of Erestor as a caring individual, despite how all other elves saw in him. The advisor would always come off as a bit of an introvert, who only spoke when it was required of him and when he did it was often made sharply. It was easy to fall on his bad side and Erestor's strict rules of how he liked to behave made him stick out like a sore thumb in the crowd of normally cheery Imladrian elves. To this day, Arwen could count Erestor's real friends on her fingers and that was already including her father to the group.

"Arwen?" She looked up to see the elf kneeling close to her. "May I?"

She blushed as she realised that he was asking for permission to lift the hem of her dress. The sudden attention made her feel even more embarrassed as she saw the ripped and dirty fabric of her clothing. How had her current state slipped her notice? She pulled up the hem of the dress, exposing her legs up to the knees.

 _If father could see me now he would have a fit,_ she thought as she twisted the ruined fabric in her hands.

She felt Erestor's fingers lightly prod her leg, but even the slightest pressure brought the pain back to the forefront. He noticed it, she knew as he smiled sadly at her, his eyes apologetic.

"Well.. it seems to be a clean break," he said, his voice low but reassuring.

 _It was a good thing then?_ She wondered to herself, her teeth biting into her lower lip to keep herself from crying out when he moved the limb slightly.

"I will have to realign it, so that it can heal properly," he wiped his dirty hands off on his leggings. "You are lucky that the bone has not broken through the skin. It would have made the task far more difficult."

"I can't imagine it hurting worse than this," she said sourly. The move had made the once dull pain a sharp one and she struggled to keep it from showing.

"Trust me, there are far more painful things than a broken bone." He retrieved his sword sheath, the sturdy length standing out against her pale skin. "This will have to do. I will reset the bone for you. _It will hurt_. Please, bite unto something. I don't want you biting your tongue."

Arwen looked scandalous at his words but the seriousness in his eyes told her to trust him.

She huffed and bundled her right sleeve up before biting into it. Grimacing slightly at the taste of the soiled fabric, the smell of warg blood was pungent. Distracted, she wasn't prepared for the quick, searing pain that radiated through her leg and up her spine. A muffled cry broke past her lips. She opened her eyes again when the pain abated into a steady hum. Erestor was busy binding her leg to the sword sheath, his hands steady but gentle in their movements.

"It is over?" Arwen asked stunned.

Erestor only nodded, not even bothering to look up. He still felt bad for putting the elleth in so much pain, but the bone needed to be fixed, and the more unaware she was of it the less pain she would feel. Finishing his binding, he rose to a stand on his knees and made his way over to where she leaned her side against the stone. He pulled the flask from her lap and opened it, moving it to her lips. She stared defiantly back at him.

"I will not have you in any more pain than necessary," said Erestor, his voice firm.

"We shouldn't waste it. I cannot take it."

"Drink." Erestor had no patience for games. He needed her to heal, and the faster she could the better. He felt weary, staying out in the wild. He didn't want to risk getting attacked again and his spine still tingled from the thought of wargs or something _worse_ following their trail here.

It didn't take much for Arwen to cave in to his demands. The pain being the most prominent incentive for her surrender. The warm sensation of the Miruvor coursing her body filled her again, its healing properties lulling her into a healing slumber. She felt tired, oh so tired all of a sudden. The days of worrying finally catching up with her. She fought it, but it was inevitable. Her last thought was that at least she would be safe. Erestor would keep her safe. He wouldn't let anything happen to her.

Erestor's face dimmed into a blur and before long it was all darkness. Her eyes closing in exhaustion.

* * *

 _ **#To be continued...**_


	5. Chapter 5

**Edited** as of 18/7/2017

* * *

 **Finding courage**

 **~: Chapter 5 :~**

* * *

Erestor slumped against the rock, his mind reeling with exhaustion. His whole body ached and he realised that he had yet to eat anything at all since two days past, before he found her.

Sleeping soundly, Arwen lay in a healing sleep behind him.

Erestor had tended to the rest of her injuries after she had fallen asleep, examined her wounded arm and the many scratch marks on her back and shoulder. Erestor had cleaned them the best he could, now he could only hope they would heal without getting an infection. Erestor was afraid he had waited too long before cleaning and dressing them, that whatever filth those wargs had in their mouths had already started to spread inside them.

He cradled his head in his hands, long fingers raking through his hair.

Erestor did not have the skills to treat infection. He didn't have the supplies nor the knowledge needed beyond treating a simple battle wound. There had never been any need to, since in the last war they had healers who took care of it for them.

If an infection did take root, the only way was to take her to the closest town, hoping there would be someone – anyone – proficient enough in the art of healing to care for her. The nearest town from here would be Tharbad, an old but greatly diminished human-ruled town Erestor had not visited before. Nor did he have any insurance that they would get help there either.

It made Erestor even more restless and worried for their safety.

Would they be accepted, even though it was very apparent that they were elves? Men could be overly suspicious and elves rarely traveled through human towns anymore, especially rural ones such as Tharbad.

He looked at the pale form of Arwen.

If he had the time and means, Erestor would have ridden back to Rivendell. The only one he trusted with the care of his little princess was her father. The lord was famed for his healing skills and Elrond would know of the best way to treat her. The awaiting disciplinary action did not faze him. Erestor would endure any punishment for his lack in care for his charge, if only Arwen would recover.

Erestor stared into the small flame that was now dwindling down into mere embers.

They wouldn't be able to move from this spot for a week at least, moving her would agitate her leg and put the whole process back to square one. On his brief check of the perimeter Erestor had heard the lively flow of water and they had enough elvish waybread to last them a few days yet.

They could make it, he was sure of it. If Arwen concentrated on her healing they would soon be on their way.

 _Yes Erestor,_ he thought to himself, s _tay positive!_

On the grassy plain below were the horses. Gildin still stayed close to their improvised camp, periodically resting in the tall grass. Beren was not far away, seeming to keep a watchful eye out for his kin.

It was a comforting sight. The picture so serene that Erestor could easily fall asleep listening to the sounds of the wind moving through the trees. The sun certainly wasn't making it any easier for him with its warm beams, a warmth that could make any elf sleepy just from sitting in it.

His hand drifted to the silver flask hanging around his neck.

The metal was cool and comforting to him.

Erestor let go of it to munch on a corner of lembas instead. This was no time for turning sentimental. He had work to do.

With that, Erestor pushed himself off the ground and sent Arwen's sleeping form another glance before leaving with their waterskins. His sword, now wrapped in a piece of fabric across his back, his only companion.

* * *

 **.oOo.**

The Lord of Imladris was not prepared for the feet storming down the corridor and was even more surprised when his office door slammed open, the wood bouncing against the wall with a bang.

"My lord!"

Elrond found his eyebrows shooting towards his hairline at the sight of his head minstrel Lindir and the guard captain Haldoron standing in his doorway. Both elves where breathing heavily since they had run with great haste, their chests heaving from exertion.

The commotion woke the interest of others in the vicinity and he saw the tall form of his seneschal – Glorfindel – come out from his office across from Elrond's own.

"What in the world is going on here?" The golden haired warrior demanded to know and Elrond could see Haldoron visibly shrinking at the sound of the seneschal's stern voice.

Lindir seemed to be the one to catch his breath first and launched himself into Elrond's office, baby-blue eyes wild. "My lord! Your daughter, she has disappeared!"

"What!?" Elrond practically flew out of his chair, said piece of furniture toppling to the ground behind him. "What do you mean she has disappeared?"

Haldoron straightened, his pose going into standard debriefing mode as he started in a grave voice to retell the events surrounding his daughter's runaway. During this time, Glorfindel made his way into the room, his eyes hard and jaw clenched.

At the end of the story, Elrond felt himself stumble, forcing him to reach out for his desk in case his legs should choose to fail him completely. One hand moved to cover his face as he released an anguished sound.

"What have you done, Arwen? What have you done?" He murmured, his mind already giving him thousands of possible scenarios to his child's whereabouts, each one more terrifying than the last.

Elrond made towards his armchair across the room, not even registering his own tilting form as he slumped into it. The furniture caught his full weight with a groaning _whoosh_.

He had done it again.

He had failed to protect her.

All his precautions and careful planning to keep his family safe and sound spoiled, ruined by the whims of fate.

He dragged a shaking hand through his hair and as if disconnected from the real world around him Elrond could hear Glorfindel dismiss the guard before ordering a distraught Lindir to go change out of his now dirty and sweaty robes. The now growing steady voice of his friend became his sole comfort in his despair as walls of darkness threatened to close in around him.

Because what had he accomplished? Even with all his careful planning and orchestrating of events everything seemed to work against him.

He had sent his foster son on a hopeless errand, far beyond his reach. His twin sons had left him to scour the lands of the encroaching orcs that tested their borders. His daughter – his young, beautiful and utterly precious daughter – had disappeared. Roaming the wild with nothing to protect her. All alone..

A sudden pressure claimed his shoulder and Elrond looked up to see the solemn crystal blue eyes of his friend. Glorfindel tried to muster a reassuring smile on his face seeing the despair in his lord's expression.

"Erestor has gone after her," Glorfindel said, collected and calm on the outside, despite his worries.

It was a simple sentence but it still gave life to flutters of hope in him. But soon Elrond's eyes went wide as the whole implication of what Glorfindel just said registered with him.

"Erestor has gone after her, Elrond. He will find Arwen." There was not a shred of doubt in Glorfindel's voice, nothing to gainsay his belief in Erestor's determination. "You know how he feels about her. I wouldn't trust anyone else to care more for her safety than him."

 _Yes_ , Elrond thought sadly, _Arwen means the world to him._

Elrond had never doubted his friend and advisor's loyalty to him or his daughter. He had heard the elf say many times how much he thought of Arwen as his very own flesh and blood, something that had caused them both to laugh plenty of times. Elrond felt extreme relief when Erestor offered to escort Arwen personally to the Havens.

No, Elrond could not second guess his friend's priorities. The elf had a pure heart and Elrond knew Erestor was more than willing to endanger himself, could his life spare hers.

Elrond pulled away from the grip on his shoulder, rising and pacing the fine wooden floor. His mind quickly found new worries.

"How can we be so sure, Glorfindel? It has been too long. Erestor has been out of action for far too long. What will happen if they are attacked?" Elrond asked seriously, his face growing more and more concerned. "You know as well as I do how dangerous travelling abroad is at this time, even with an escort!"

"He will manage – "

"He hasn't lifted a sword in the last three thousand years!" Elrond's frustration was getting the worst out of him. He was too anxious, too afraid of what could possibly happen to think clearly. He could feel his blood boil increasingly with anger, protesting against the injustice of it all. Elrond steadied his grey eyes on Glorfindel's shocked ones. "Erestor has not _touched_ a blade since he left the army after The Last Alliance. He couldn't – !"

Elrond remembered all too well the broken elf that had returned from the battlefield at the end of the Second Age. The listlessness in those grey eyes had sent shivers down his spine. Elrond had been told that war changes a man, but he had never expected someone to change that much. Never had he seen a elf so disgusted with himself, so filled with self-loathing... It was like Erestor's body was a mere shell, and a whole new elf had decided to take up residence in it. The new personality harsh, judging and filled with anger at the war and himself.

At the time, Elrond thought Erestor wouldn't pull through. That Erestor would not be able to put the loss and horrors of the war behind him. Elrond thought he had lost his friend forever..

Fortunately he had been wrong.

Since then, his long time companion in the sparring ring stopped showing up for their spars. Erestor no longer joined his old friends in playful matches or public competitions. He locked everything connected to blood and warfare away. Put it behind lock and key, his sword bundled and hidden in that large trunk in his room.

But ever so slowly Erestor started to live again.

In the end that was what mattered to Elrond. He regained his friend.

Yes, he changed. Erestor started to delve deep and far into his books and writing. Using his skills and quick wit to contribute to his realm in a whole new way. A _peaceful_ way, which had no need for swords and armour and blood and death.

Elrond accepted it. They moved on.

Glorfindel seemed to have trouble finding his voice. "Three millennia? But his reputation, they always spoke so well of his skill.."

"Oh, he was skilled. He did fight beside me after all." Elrond poured himself a glass of strong Dorwinnian, the wine burning on its way down his throat. "Skilled enough for Gil-galad to think it best to station him near me, so that he could protect me on the off-chance occurrence that I could not."

Glorfindel's face contorted with confusion.

Was Elrond not contradicting everything he just said?

He felt there was more to this than just a simple explanation. Glorfindel had always thought there was no secrets between him and Erestor. Yet, here he found himself being told important things of an elf he had grown up with like an brother. Things he had no idea of.

"What happened?" He asked, his eyes trying to catch Elrond's but the elf only stared down at the blood-red wine he was busy swirling in his glass.

When those grey eyes finally rose to meet his, Glorfindel found a deep sadness in them.

"He killed an elf."

* * *

 **.oOo.**

Her eyes cracked open and she groaned as she awoke to a dull ache pulsing through her. The sky was bright in her eyes and she had to lift a hand to shield them from it glaring light.

"Good morning," came a voice to the side of her, she shifted her head and saw Erestor sitting a couple of feet away on one of the medium sized blocks of stone. "How are you feeling?"

Arwen was of a mind to give a snarky reply to his question, since she was not usually accustomed to pain. But she settled instead for something simpler and less offending, her voice flat and empty of cheer. "I've been better."

The male inclined his head. "I'm sure you have."

He hopped down from the rock with a catlike grace and quickly approached her with a water skin.

"Here.." He said as he tilted her head to let her drink. "You've been sleeping for the last three days. I didn't dare force more than a little drops of water down you throat at a time. I am sure you are more than thirsty."

Arwen drank eagerly, the cool water soothing her parched throat. "I've been asleep for that long?"

"You fell into a healing sleep, which is good, considering your injuries. Elven bodies are designed that way so that we can return into top shape as quickly as possible."

She raised a brow at him. "I know what a healing sleep is. I have been studying with Ada (father) as you should very well remember."

"So I do, now that you remind me." His cheeks coloured lightly with embarrassment, the occurrence itself was so rare that Arwen felt a bit stunned to see him blush like that. "Are you hungry?"

The mention of food, strangely enough, made her stomach rumble. This time it was Arwen who blushed and she wanted to hide even more when Erestor's soft chuckles met her ears. He left for a moment but soon returned carrying a leaf wrapped lembas bread.

"Lembas," she said uninspired by the golden hued wafer, "what I wouldn't do for one of our cook's fresh pies right now.."

Still, Arwen accepted it and for once her stomach let her devour it without complaint. Erestor watched her carefully all the while, which made her a little self conscious of the amount of crumbs she dropped on her dress.

"What?" She asked once she had eaten the whole thing, brushing her dress off as discreetely as possible.

"Nothing. It is just.. I think it is the first time I've seen you eat so happily in a long time. Not since we left Rivendell have I seen you eat anything more than a mouthful."

She was a bit taken in by the way his eyes warmed with the small smile, which grew on his lips as he spoke. Surely, her eating was not such a big matter that it would change his whole visage into such a.. _happy_ one?

Erestor must have sensed her becoming uncomfortable because he abruptly turned away from her, leaning back to continue his watch over the plain. She followed his gaze and saw that both Beren and Gildin were grazing on the grass, Beren having a flower stem tucked into his mouth that made him look utterly hilarious. Arwen looked over at Erestor and found his eyes dancing with mirth as well. It made her feel all the more at home, even if they were miles away from the Last Homely House.

 _Home_.. She had not thought of home for a long time, but now, with Erestor keeping her company, Arwen found her mind straying to the valley far more often.

She wondered if news of her runaway had already reached her father. Was he mad at her? Arwen shivered a little at the face she imagined him wearing once they meet again. Her father was a peredhel as much as she was and her father being angry with her was not something she wanted to experience often. Thankfully, her brothers had always been the targets of his ire, always distracting him from her own mischief when she was an elfling.

How about her brothers? Had they heard?

Knowing them, they would run off searching for her as well. Her brothers would comb all of Arda just to find her. Their overprotective ways had been the bane of her existence for many years already. If it came down to it, Arwen would rather face her father than her brothers. At least her father would only reprimand her and hand her a punishment before quickly forgiving her. _Her brothers_... They would lock her in a cage for the rest of her life. Saying that she was incapable of taking care of herself and should be looked after properly by them instead.

Yes. Being the sister of peredhil twins had its quirks, but none too favorable when it came down to matters concerning her own stupidity.

A bundle of fabric was dumped into her lap, startling her out of her musings. She looked up to see Erestor standing with his back turned to her, his fingers playing with the grey stone on his finger.

"You should probably change into those.." he said slowly. "The days grow chill and winter is almost upon us. You won't manage long in that flimsy dress of yours."

She felt her mouth fall open at his words, the mention of her shredded dress caused her to wrap her arms around herself protectively, even though her cloak covered her sufficiently. She heard Erestor cough once, as if the sound would break the embarrassing atmosphere. Arwen threw a glare at his back.

"They will probably be a little big, but they will have to do. The dresses you brought aren't really ideal for travelling.." He trailed off, realising he probably shouldn't have said he had gone through her things without asking first. "I'll be over there if you need help. Just.. call me if you need assistance."

Then he was gone.

Arwen's face flushed with indignity as she opened up the bundle that revealed itself to be a large tunic and a long pair of leggings. The clothing were obviously made for a male, the size also suggested that it wasn't Erestor's clothing as they were much too big for him. Erestor was still wearing the same set of clothing he had worn when he found her, even if they seemed to have been washed during her sleep for they were much cleaner now. Somehow, the knowledge that it was not his clothing made wearing them a lot easier for her.

Removing her cloak, she was stunned by the horrific state of her elven dress.

Tears and holes decorated it and the pattern that she had liked with this dress had been shredded enough for the embroidery to be completely unrecognisable. Worst was probably the fact that the dress was still stained with the dark blood of wargs. The stiffness it added to the fabric made her cringe and Arwen was glad to be able to change into something clean again.

Stripping her dress off she came to another embarrassing conclusion: Erestor had seen her naked, or at least close to it.

She hid her face in her hands as her head spun with the fact that she had let her old mentor see her naked. Not as an elfling, but as a fully grown elleth.

 _No,_ she told her self mentally _, Erestor has treated and dressed your wounds. Not stripped you bare for his own enjoyment! You should be glad he took so good care of you! He is a very honorable ellon and your good friend._

Arwen tugged the tunic over her head to cover her nakedness, her eyes scanning those dressings she could see herself. She had been far worse for wear than she had thought after the warg attack. At the time, she had only felt the pain of her fractured leg, all other wounds being drowned out by searing pain shooting up that one limb alone. Now, when Arwen had had a proper look at her own state, it was a clearly a miracle that Erestor managed to find her in time.

Arwen struggled with the leggings for some time, the pants being too long for her. Luckily, the legs were wide enough not to put pressure on her swollen leg. She could see the tips of her toes, all light purple and swollen as they stuck out of the make shift bandaging that wrapped around her leg to steady it. It looked bad, but Arwen knew that as long as the bone had been taken care of it would only be a matter of time before it healed on its own.

"You can come back now!" she called, feeling humbled by the fact that she had been saved from certain death by the elf now walking towards her.

His dark eyes scanned her figure, which must look ridiculous in the oversized clothing, even with a belt cinching the tent like tunic in by the waist, before returning to her face. "I'm glad they fit. I was a little worried they'd be too small."

Her mouth twitched at Erestor's attempt to lighten the mood. Probably to distract her from the fact that he had seen more of her skin than even her father had.

"What do we do now?" She asked, hoping for some kind of plan to distract herself from her current predicament. The pain was starting to pick up again now that Arwen had moved her leg. It was manageable, but she preferred not thinking of it none the less.

"Well.. there isn't really much we can do." It was a disappointing answer and she made sure Erestor knew it from the displeasure on her face. "We really have no choice but wait for you to heal. I won't risk your leg by riding."'

Arwen nodded.

She knew that breaking it anew would make it even harder to heal. She could, at the very worst, lose her ability to walk and Arwen enjoyed walking thank you very much! The silenced reigned between them, neither willing to break it for it would mean more questions neither felt compelled to answer.

In the end, they settled into their own things. Arwen staring at the landscape around them. Erestor poking the small fire that he had going now that daylight was leaving them.

Gildin came limping over to them twice during the evening, the last time dragging a neighing Beren with him. Gildin seemed happy to see his mistress awake again and Arwen had to admit she had missed him too. Beren came over to blow at her face once, his long dark mane tickling her face. It made her wonder over the horses carefree personality.

"Why did you name him Beren? I did not know you had a horse.."

Erestor lifted his gaze to her. Eyes flickering with light from the fire. "I do not. As for the name, it was an impulse of the moment. I could not go around calling him horse now could I?"

Beren huffed in protest, continuing his search for treats on her person. "So you just happened to name him after my forefather?"

Erestor chuckled, not even trying to hide his amusement. "I didn't really think of it at the time, but now that I look closer, they do resemble each other somewhat. In personality rather than appearance, of course."

"You knew Beren?" Arwen asked surprised.

"I met him once. Long before my family was forced to move to Gondolin.." His eyes hazed over for a moment, as if recalling the moment. "My mother was one of the maidens in Doriath's court. She was one of the first to point out Beren's fondness for Thingol's daughter. Not that it did go down very well at the time."

"What happened? To cause your family to move?" From what Arwen had heard and read of the First Age, moving to Gondolin entailed a great commitment, knowing that you would never be allowed to leave once you've entered the city gates.

She watched his eyes flash for a moment with an unknown emotion before they calmed again. His gaze turning to the sky as birds raced across the blue expance.

"The king found out my father was of Noldor blood."

The sadness that lingered in his voice tore at her heart, and the forced smile that followed only made her feel even worse for asking.

King Thingol's outrage hearing of the Noldor's kinslaying had forever changed the relations between the Sindar and the Noldor. Still, she had not expected Erestor to have been caught in the middle of such a strife, simply because his father was a Noldor.

Arwen closed her eyes in contemplation.

Then again, King Thingol was not friendly with the secondborn either, Beren's chase for the Silmaril was proof of that.

"I'm sorry." she whispered.

"Don't be. It is in the past."

* * *

 _ **# To be continued...**_


	6. Chapter 6

**Thanks** To all my wonderful reviewers and readers who still take the time to read this story. Even though I've been less than regular with my updates. Yours, DR.

* * *

 **Finding Courage**

 **~: Chapter 6 :~**

* * *

Over the next few days Arwen noticed a pattern in her companion's behavior. Each morning, Erestor would leave the small fire burning for her and slip away at dawn, always returning washed and carrying bulging waterskins of fresh water. He would then heat some of it over the fire to make her a warm tea made of healing herbs she had described to him earlier that week. Arwen had been proud to be able to contribute somehow, since ever since she became bedridden she felt utterly useless having nothing to do but rest all day.

After handing her a hefty piece of lembas and her tea, Erestor would then return to his rock and stare off into the horizon.

The direction of his gaze did not go unnoticed, however, and Arwen thought it sad that even though they were far from it, Erestor's gaze still strayed in the direction of the sea. His longing become the most apparent in those silent hours following the first peek of the sunrise. A strange sensation settling in Arwens chest at the sight.

By midday Arwen would be bored enough to ask Erestor about whatever came to mind at the time. As a lady of the household, Arwen was accustomed to constant chatter, whether from maids or her friends. Silence was a thing she was ill used to. Thankfully, Erestor was a walking library and would often indulge her with stories or recounts of specific parts of history, both elven and mannish, if she asked for it.

These were the moments Arwen would find him relaxing in her presence, his frame dropping its tension and the travel worn elf would become Erestor again, the advisor and keeper of Imladris' library. She allowed him the respite of slipping back into his comfort zone, his face morphing back into the familiar mask he would wear at home. Arwen felt it was the least she could do for dragging him into this. Though, as she stared into the same familiar face that had stared back at her through years and years of tutoring, she found that perhaps it was not only for his sake, but for Arwen's peace of mind as well. The elf had a strange way of putting her at ease at all times.

In the afternoon, Erestor would ride the horses as descreetly as possible, taking them to a small stream he said he had found. Beren was all energy as always and the horse's open-mindedness made Gildin more susceptible to Erestor's charms as well. Arwen would smile at her horse wryly, feeling a bit betrayed and jealous by Gildin's sudden show of affection for another elf other than herself. But her ill mood was easily redeemed when Erestor returned one day to scold her for teaching her horse to push unsuspecting elves into bodies of cold water. She had never laughed harder than when she saw Erestor's face as he accused their horses of plotting his demise together.

The days were all good, but Arwen's favorite time would always be in the evenings when everything would quiet down around them and only the popping of the fire woud resound in the stillness of the fading sun. It were these times when Erestor would move into the stone shelter with her and keep her company as the night grew longer. When he would sit beside her bed of grass, both of them wrapped up in their cloaks, and tell her of her time as an elfing or recite one of his poems just to break the silence.

It had become a routine of sorts, ever since Arwen told him her fears of waking surrounded by those awful mangy beast again. She hated the thought of waking up to find out she utterly alone in the darkness, without another soul in sight. The only sound around her being the low growls in the dark. It was during those evenings, when her fears found a stronger hold on her, that Erestor would choose specific snippets out of his own life and retell them in such detail that she could almost picture herself there; standing, smelling and feeling the exact same sensations he had. Travelling from their weary world into that of the past.

Whether it was the tales, the poems or just the plain sound of his voice it would without fail lull Arwen to sleep feeling warm, cherished and safe. It soothed her every time Erestor continued his selfless act, night after night, always guarding her until her breathing evened out and she became oblivious to the world.

Her fëa became brighter and brighter with each day that passed.

* * *

 **.oOo.**

Erestor stopped in place to stare at a fish in the stream, his eyes eying it hungrily. His toes dug into the smooth pebbles along the bottom. Even he had started to tire of eating the same lembas bread day after day. Today, Erestor went to the stream in hopes of catching fish for dinner. Thinking, really, how hard could it be?

Moving his arms stealthily above the water, he tracked the movements of the fish. His eyes focusing on the way its fins worked the water and its back flexed from side to side as it steered in the soft current. In his main hand Erestor held his sword steady; the thin, tapering metal gleeming in the sun, casting shimmering reflexions over the otherwise transparent water surface.

Eyes flashed as he lunged into action, the glittering body of the plump fish impaled on the sword. Erestor watched it in grim satisfaction as it stuggled, the slippery creature quickly stilling as life left it.

"Dinner it is then." Sending a silent prayer to the Valar to thank for their offering, Erestor made his way back to camp.

Upon his return, he found not much had changed as he saw his lady sitting on the improvised cot, eyes steadily watching out over the field below. Arwen's eyes moved onto him once he came within hearing distance, an immaculate fine brow rising at the sight of his proud catch.

"Been playing huntsman, Erestor?"

"Aye, my Lady. Though I apologize, a single fish is hardly a feast."

A bell-like laugh graced the air, shocking Erestor somewhat. It had been so long since he last heard her laugh. Arwen's wide grin quickly drew forth a smile of his own. Arwen continued with obvious amusement, "Anything is better than lembas right now, my friend."

"Aye, certainly."

Erestor could hear Arwen fiddling with some of the grass in the background as he set to cleaning the fish. The occational queesy sound from behind him confirmed his suspicion that the Lady of Imladris had never experienced the joy of preparing fish before.

 _Of course_ , Erestor mused inwardly, _she probably never set foot in the kitchens besides to sneak sweets when she was younger._

Indeed. Erestor was well acquinted with how sheltered the young lady behind him was. Arwen's family had taken great lengths to protect her ever since she was a child still following behind her mother's skirts. The advisor also knew that it became even worse after Lady Celebrian went across the sea. Nowadays the peredhil males where quite famous for their over-protective nature towards their female kin.

That did, of course, not mean that the elleth in question did not try to show them she could handle herself. Quite the contrary actually, as her most recent escapade was another fine example of her way of 'handling' things. Arwen, stubborn and willful like her grandmother, had a knack for testing the nerves of her father on a frequent basis. It was somewhat overshadowed by her brothers inborn natures, since their tendency for mischief outdrowned her own at her age. But there was no denying the independent streak that tried so fervently to gain ground within the young elleth.

Spearing the fish on a sharp stick, he allowed it to grill slowly over the crackling fire. Arwen watched his motions with a sharpened stare, as if trying to absorb the simple knowledge. "Do you often prepare your fish?"

Erestor raised his head, meeting swirling grey-blue orbs. "Well no... Though I guess every ellon needs to know how to clean a fish."

Inwardly, Erestor attempted to count the many times he had survived on the humble skill. When food was scarce, the rivers and lakes could hold your ticket to survival if you knew the different ways of catching fish. Elrond would always complain about his fishing, the smell that stuck on him afterwards always made Elrond wrinkle his nose. But deep into the long marches of war, away from the hospital shores of Lindon, Elrond stopped his ranting. Fish, no matter how foul tasting or lacking in seasoning, was preferable to lembas when you had lived off the cakes for years at a time.

He smiled, remembering the expression on the young peredhel elfling's face as he tried to show Elrond the 'secrets of the trade' so to speak. But the High King's new ward had never taken to the skill as well as his more earthy twin. When it came to fishing, there was none better than Elros. For although he too was hesitant in taking a life as most elflings are. Elros soon realized the importance of being able to feed himself. Even if he had no need of it at the time he enjoyed inventing creative ways of catching the slippery creatures...

"You are drifting away again."

Erestor faded back into the present, the vision of the calm sea-side and twin dark heads racing up and down the sands vanishing with it. Arwen kept her eyes on him. "Where to do you disappear to, for it to bring such an expression on your face?"

Erestor turned the spit, allowing the other side of the fish to cook. His grey eyes not hiding from her unmasking gaze. "The past. A place never to be seen again."

"Is it pretty?" Arwen asked cautiously. It had to be, for there had been such a look of longing on his face, so much happiness concealed behind a single content smile. "That place held in your heart?"

Erestor's face relaxed from its previous regretful state. "Aye. I miss it much more than I thought I would."

His lips curled upwards, hesitant yet warm with their expression. Deep eyes found her face. "I would have liked to show it to you. You would have enjoyed it there."

Arwen closed her mouth, eyes shimmering as she felt something well up inside. The sun glinted off Erestor's eyes, illuminating small silver speckles within them, so foreign in his usually slate grey.

"Yes. I think so too."

* * *

 **.oOo.**

Arwen leaned her weight onto Beren's large chest. The horse stood firm as she held her fingers anchored to his mane. No matter how much she wished to deny it, she could not dismiss the clear trembling that went through her legs. Days of neglect had caused the limbs to become stiff and unmanagable. She brushed a hand down the horse's calm side, brushing down the short, black pelt. Gildin nodded his head at her nervous behavior, sensing her uncertainty.

It was not her leg that made her uncomfortable. No, it was the fact that they were leaving.

Erestor had proclaimed her leg healed enough to move. His whole being starting to hum at he prospect of making their way back home. But in his excitement, he missed the silent doubt in his companion. For although Arwen had tried to quietly persuade herself that this was the right thing. Now that they were on the verge of returning, that same sense of ill ease filled her.

Injured and healing, only the small hours right before dawn left her enough alone time to think herself through. What she had accomplished with her actions, what was yet unchanged. Rivendell would always be her home, but some part of her still belived that she had more of a part to play in Arda than to return and do her father's bidding. The reasoning she could understand, but Arwen had never been one to listen to anything other than her heart. And her heart told her that she needed to take matters into her own hands, to make things matter.

Beren huffed into her face and she realized that her fingers had tightened on his mane. The horse softly thumping her shoulder, almost turning her as she heard the steps behind her.

"Soon, my friend." Erestor reached out a hand soothing the increasingly impatient horse. "You will get a chance to run those legs yet."

Arwen glanced at him, wondering at the sudden transformation that had taken over him. Much of the hardened version was back in place, the sword hanging once more off his hip in its fabric sling. The sight was discomforting. For although she was used to swords and men wearing them, seeing one on Erestor somehow made her stomach turn.

Erestor adjusted the tight braid he had set his hair into. The rope-like length swinging with his movements. "Are you ready, my Lady?"

Arwen nodded, accepting his assistance as Erestor without strain lifted her up in the saddle. "Hold on. I'll mount in a second." Wrapping the long mane around her hands she watched as Erestor went about and dismantled camp. Taking extra care in removing any signs of their presence.

Gildin greeted her, somewhat put off that Beren was the one carrying her. The horse was still recuperating, though he would be able to travel a lot faster now than before. Twin hands reached out to the two horse muzzles, soft whispers of quenya following.

"What did you say?" Arwen asked, still somewhat spellbound by the lilt she only ever associated with her grandmother's.

"I asked them to bear us home." Erestor patted down their strong necks. "Always trust a horse to find its way home. They know these lands far better than we do."

Beren sidestepped a second as Erestor hoisted himself up behind her. His form suddenly pressed against hers. It should have been awkward, or at least somewhat distressing to feel another male than Aragorn pressed so closely to her. Yet, she could not seem to find it in her to draw away. Erestor was no stranger. No male that used her weakness to gain access to her body. No. Erestor would always be Erestor.

A small nudge to the flanks was all it took to spur Beren onwards. The horse setting an even pace that was not too slow but neither too bumpy in the terrain. Arwen allowed the motions underneath her. Feeling the horse master the land as ground rolled passed beneath them. Gildin, suprisingly, came to run at their side. His white mane fluttering in the wind as they rode.

The area was wild. Rocky and full of potholes that might be dangerous should they miss one. But Erestor never wavered, his hands only holding a comforting hold on the mane. Allowing full control to Beren to steer their way. It was early morning and the sun lit their path well. There was little to worry about that could dampen their spirits.

That was until they reached the river that cut off their path westward. Erestor signalled a halt. Eyes surveying the tall grass. Some of it was upturned. Signs of passing. Arwen thought nothing of it, after all a good rainstorm could make some damage to the greenery in its path. But when the horses clearly raised their guard against something she could not see Arwen was sure something was amiss.

"What is it?" she whispered, though not quite sure why she did so. Perhaps it was the subdued atmosphere. The way everything including the rushing river seemed to have hushed around them.

Erestor lay an arm around her shoulders, before communicating to the horses to back up a bit. Gildin scraped one hove in the hard sandbank. Eyes peering into the north. Arwen was about to repeat her question, thinking Erestor had not heard it when he covered her mouth with his hand.

He leaned into her ear and whispered almost soundlessly, "Orcs."

Arwens heart jumped, hands tightening their hold on dark strands. Concentrating her hearing, she could indeed hear odd sounds in the distance. Like crude horns only more flesh like, harsh cries in the evening sky. Erestor's soothing quenya did not just reassure the horses this time as he gently but firmly led the paired equines further up from the bank and back into the treeline.

Panic surged through her as she saw the determined gaze in his hard slate eyes. Arwen almost struggled as he fastened his hands around her waist, his dismounted form lifting her in a fluid motion off the horse.

"Why are we stopping?" She tried to keep her balance, but the fear she could feel rising made keeping her knees strong hard. "Should we not be fleeing?"

Erestor rearranged some of the packs, moving most of them onto Beren for some reason. When her nearly frantic state registered with him, he brushed some of her midnight hair out of her face. Smoothing the strands out of her distraught face. "I need you to be brave, my Lady."

"Erestor-"

"Hush. No..." He grasped her wrists and pulled her hands off him, dislodging her desperate fingers locked in the front of his tunic. He took a deep breath. "I need you to stay safe."

He stared into her eyes, as if willing her to understand and she reluctantly complied. Eyes shimmering as she gave a stiff nod. "Good..." He seemed to search for something, as if trying to ascertain himself of the sanity of his plan. "I will leave the horses here with you."

"What-?"

"They are too loud and their scent would catch their attention far faster than my own. Beren is fast. He can carry you swiftly to safety if you must." He held her shoulders, trying to ignore the way they shook beneath his hands. "I need you to take cover in that tree. If the sun sets and I have yet to return..." Arwen drew a shuddering gasp.

"I need to know _you will ride_. As fast as you can." Erestor looked towards the river. "If you follow the river downstream, two will become one. The Greyflood will lead you to Tharbad, there follow the Green Way north. The Dunedain patrol those lands, they are loyal to our people... There will be elves, friends of your brothers travelling with them."

Arwen tensed her jaw, refusing to let her tears fall. "And I am to leave you behind to die?"

Erestor gave a hopeless laugh, the same one he had used when she or her brother's gave a ridiculous anwer on one of his tutoring questions, and pulled her in for a hug. Arwen clung to him, needing to feel that same warmth, the stability that had become her anchor these last few days.

"I will follow you as quickly as I can." He drew away, serious as he looked at her. "I might not be as heroic as Glorfindel, but at least allow me to try. I promise I will not choose valour over seeing you safely home. Know that I would not willingly leave you alone unless I felt it entirely necessary."

The reassurance left her breathless, yet Arwen felt like it would be the last time she ever saw that caring face. "Promise?"

"I promise, Princess."

The soft kiss to her brow passed like a flutter of wings before she found herself gently lifted unto a branch higher than Beren's back. It would make mounting the horse a lot easier for she would merely need to slip down upon its back once the time called for it. From her sudden elevated position Arwen could see the sun lowering over the treeline. Its rays barely lighting the ground.

"Remember," Erestor said as he gazed up at her, one hand on the hilt of his sword. "Do not wait too long."

She took in his form, the scholar transformed into a warrior. Suddenly, even the rough bark beneath her fingers felt surreal.

Then he was gone.

The only sound in the air the soft pitter patter of her tears as they hit her lap.

* * *

# **To be continued...**

* * *

 **AN** I'm having an increasingly hard time finding those natural breaks in chapters. Which makes it increasingly frustrating when I cannot seem to know when the chapter is finished. Normally I write until it feels like a good break point. I really hate cliff-hangers myself, but it just felt natural this way. So bear with me?

How does the story progress I wonder? I have my own rough ideas, but who knows... -DR


	7. Chapter 7

**Warning** for macabre images and naïve elves.

 **AN** Thank you for the reviews! I'm debating how to continue. I have some ideas, but I know some will probably be disapponted with me for twisting this story in the direction its heading. But, hey. What can you do? If you have thoughts, write them! Here's another one! Enjoy! -DR

* * *

 **Finding Courage**

 **~: Chapter 7 :~**

* * *

It had been many years since he last felt his heart pound in his chest the way it did now. Erestor had once thought that he was done with swords and crude bloodshed. But how could he deny that his heart raced a bit at the thought of falling into battle once again?

His last fight had been more of an unconscious reaction to the situation at hand. An instinctual need to protect that which was precious. His military background easily fell back into its old patterns of cleanly, _ruthlessly_ ending one life after another. But now, as he stood on the edge of a another hypothetical battlefield, could he do the same once more?

Erestor held his breath. A compromise between keeping his location hidden as well as shutting out the foul stench those vile creatures emitted. Here, hidden among the branches in one of the tall spruces he could easily spy down on the disorganized camp the orcs had set during the day. It was strange, to find orcs roaming freely out under the light of the fading sun, but it did not take his eyes long to find the cause: Foul, rotting remnants of carcasses that littered the center of the camp.

 _Trust orcs to value feasting over their own safety..._

He tried to avoid imagining what kind of beings the odds and ends left on the ground originally belonged to. But the lone foot that still lay somewhat intact in the grass left little to imagination. It was not the first time Erestor was faced with the cruelties of their twisted kin and it would certainly not be the last. Isolating himself from them for over two millenia did not soften the sensations the sight of such manslaughter raised within him. Erestor hoped fervently that the man had at least died out of chock or bloodloss before being ripped into pieces. Death by eating was a horrible way to go.

The orcs milled about without any specific purpose along the flattened space. Some used burning sticks to char more of the surrounding grass, somehow finding some perverse pleasure in the widespread destruction they caused. Erestor knew that the flock would not stay idle for long. That such a large group were out in the open at all made his skin crawl and bile creep up his throat. The only source Erestor could think of the orcs spawning from were the mountains. Orcs had more than infested the ridge ever since establishing their homes in the numerous caves hidden in the landscape.

But what had caused them to wander down from it? And in such large numbers, no less?

A fight broke out between some of the smaller orcs and Erestor watched with morbid fascination as they started to pull on the underdog's arms until a nasty crack echoed in the air.

Erestor shook his head.

They were too many. Too big in numbers for him to even entertain the idea of engaging them in a fight. Perhaps with a patrol, the orcs might be waylaid quickly enough for archers to slowly pick them off in numbers. But as a single elf it would be nearly impossible to fight them and expect to come out alive afterwards.

 _I've never missed Glorfindel's strategic mind more than in this very moment..._

Reluctantly, Erestor allowed a smirk to form as he thought of how the blonde would have picked the situation apart bit by bit until he had formed the most efficient plan to exterminate the abominations. An age ago, Erestor might have appreciated such efforts. But at the moment, just thinking of feeling thick black blood spray over him made his stomach twist.

He searched the sky, knowing that the sun would set in another few moments. If he were lucky, Arwen would be long gone, already riding steadily south. But she was headstrong to a fault and Erestor had recognized the possibility that the elleth might just withstand his orders long enough that he might find her still waiting upon his return. Originally, he had planned on giving her some kind of signal of his demise, if he did fall, so as to warn her ahead of time. Something to spur her into action. But seeing as fighting was not his current priority, backtracking to her location would have to be made with increased speed and stealth just incase she had infact remained behind to wait for him despite his pleas.

He slowly climbed down the tree, freezing when a particularly dry branch snapped beneath his leather boot.

An orc closest to the trees snapped his head in his direction and it took all of Erestor's restraint to become completely silent once more. Those beady yellow eyes stared his way, scanning the foilage. Erestor flexed his hands, trying to steady his grip in the odd position he was stuck in.

A flush of wind ripped through the trees, causing leaves to rustle in its wake. Soon enough, the orc seemed to lose focus once more before he turned his head away from the trees.

Erestor panted harshly, one hand over his mouth as he pressed his back against the body of the trunk. His feet safely lodged on the ground. If there was time and more room for error, he might have made his way through the branches instead of on ground. It would certainly leave less tracks, for although elves might be light on their feet, he had yet to meet an elf who could conceal his scent enough not to leave any traces behind. Now, Erestor would have to trust in his ability to move unhindered, minimizing his contact with the fauna as much as possible. For the idea of having a whole group of orcs tracking him by scent did not sound very enticing at the moment.

As he slipped between trees like a silver shadow, he contemplated his sudden need for haste. The sun had already dipped beneath the horizon, becoming the perfect playground for the beasts. He fervently hoped Arwen was still safe, for if his actions had led to her demise, Erestor would never be able to forgive himself.

* * *

 **.oOo.**

Arwen gripped her blade closer as the shouts from the north escalated. Their gutteral cries were beginning to make her nauseous, for every time she heard one she imagined it as victorious glee for when one of those horrible creatures sliced another slash into her friend.

How could he leave her? Her mind kept repeating that same echoing thought in her solitude. Absently Arwen counted the minutes until the sun faded fully from its perch in the sky. Her heart was beginning to feel the stress laid upon it. And for every beat, she realized she felt more and more angry with her own lack of common sense. To have let Erestor go and risk his life so recklessly... But Arwen had promised. Just like Erestor had promised he would come back to her.

She glanced at Beren as the horse gnawed at the bark of her tree. Looking every bit as jumpy as she did whenever those cries rose in the air. Gildin, valiant steed comparable to his sire, stood proudly in the fading light. The last glimmering rays of sun bouncing of his light coat. Arwen had never realized that bravery could be bred into descendants. Though, she guessed Erestor must have counted on some of her father's passing down to her.

The Valar knew she felt nothing but afraid in this very moment.

When darkness finally coated even the highest tips of the trees Arwen sat conflicted, not knowing what to do.

On one hand she had promised to honor her word. To take the horses and flee once night fell. On the other, her rushing emotions screamed at her for taking the coward's way out. To fight and offer what she could to ensure Erestor's survival. She shook her head... Did she have so poor faith in him? Yet some part of her whispered that he could very well be injured and taking longer on his way back. What if Erestor returned to find her gone, without any means but his feet to bring him to safety?

Could she live with that on her conscience?

Arwen wrapped her fingers around the hilt of her sword. Feeling the leather form under her grip, the same cold steel gleaming back at her.

It seemed so familiar, the sensation the silver shine brought her. It was the same as the one she had when she rose to fight the wargs so long ago. The feeling of _strength_. Of _hope_ no matter how faint.

A rustle in the wood caught her ears and her body stiffened before she silently motioned Beren into place beneath her. Gildin took up point, a threatening posture made to ward off any ill that might think to come for her. After sliding onto the stallion's back, Arwen straightened in her seat, sword raised and ready to meet whatever end might face her.

 _For Erestor._

A snap, twigs giving way beneath strain.

In her mind, the mantra of an old elven warsong her brother's used to sing rang clearly. Each word made her grip become steadier and her shaking lessen. There was no room for hesitation.

When Erestor surfaced between the pale trunks her heart wavered, suddenly caught between joy and and the rush of adrenalin already pumping in her veins.

"Erestor." She felt her lips curl upwards, relief flooding her. "You are back!"

Gildin backed off without needing to be told to, sensing the familiar scent. Erestor, without greeting her her in return slowly made his way over, eyes dark as his hand grasped hers around the hilt.

"Foolish elleth..." He seemed unable to put up a fight, yet fiercely determined to make his point clear. "What if I was the first of those forty orcs lingering upstream? What if I was the enemy seeking to lower your guard?" Erestor shook his head, hand lowering hers beside him as he pressed his face into her middle. Apparently uncaring of the shocked mien on her face.

Arwen felt the slight tremble in his limbs and as if on reflex her sword dropped with a audible clang from her fingers to the ground. Arms slowly encircled those stiff shoulders. Not knowing what to say. What to _do_ to make him less disappointed with her.

"Do you have any idea how much I worried for you?"

Arwen could barely hear his muffled mumbles. But each word made the ache worse. The stars were already up and shone down on the silver trinket used to fasten his braid. Arwens hands clung to the sweaty fabric on his back hoping to somehow apologize for her ways. For letting him down.

"I was going to..." She whispered, knowing they were worthless words by now. "I was-"

" _Never endanger yourself for me again. Please..."_ Arwen tried not to stiffen at the flowing words, words so secret to her ears. Oh, how she wished she understood them. _"Please, Arwen. Never scare me like this again."_

There was no dampening of her tunic. Nothing to prove the presence of any shed tears. But the mere fact that Erestor refused to show her his face was testimony enough of his emotional state. If his pleading tone did not fill her in, Arwen already knew from the way his hand clenched around the leather strap keeping their saddlebags in place that Erestor was not his usual self.

Arwen never wished to see him this way again...

* * *

 **.oOo.**

With their way north blocked the only possible path was to continue south. They rode through the night, Arwen periodically slumbering in his arms as he rode. Her warmth, the way her chest expanded rythmically with every breath put his mind at ease. Still badly spooked by his sudden rush of emotion.

As she slept, Erestor tightened his arms slightly.

Turning south at the fork of the rivers, Erestor could only hope that they had put enough distance between themselves and the orcs. The looming threat lay heavily on his mind, and not for the first time he scolded himself for not riding sooner. But no, the promise of a straight, almost problem free route had made him greedy.

Had he lost his edge during the years he spent confined among his numerous books and scrolls?

Erestor would not deny that he felt out of his element. The land around him was beginning to feel all the more foreign as the classical lanscape surrounding the hidden valley gave way to open fields and long stretches of unhindered land. Not a settlement in sight, Erestor knew they had missed the old Dunedain country by a hair.

It did not help that his memory of this place was more based on maps and old, outdated views of a land long gone. The old kingdom of Arnor looked foreign across the riverbank. Only remnants of the once prosperous land made itself known in the vast landscape: Soft contours of withered rock formations and raised chairns, long lost to the growth of nature.

Had it really been that long since he last visited the further reaches of Eriador? Erestor snorted. It had been long indeed since he had left the valley for more than an occational diplomatic trip east.

The land was rough, more wild now. The Dunedain too few these days to keep it all up to shape. Instead, other races had staked their claim on the land. Halflings to the north, Men where the fields and woods were fruitous enough and Dwarves where stone offered riches still unclaimed. All converged on the Green Way; travellers, merchants and thieves. Erestor would have to be careful as they neared civilisation again. Many had forgotten the old alliances of old, more prone to believe in rumours and the false sayings pertaining to witchcraft and magical beings.

Tharbad would be their first stop.

The old city had dwindeled down over the centuries into a small town. Perhaps there, Erestor could get an idea of how to proceed. His faith in himself wavered further as he thought of the responsibility of escorting one of the most stunning maidens of their time through the roughened streets of a human town. He clenched his teeth.

 _It is good we still have our cloaks. I don't think we would have lasted past the gate without them._

Of course, things never went to plan whenever Erestor was part of it. He bemoaned the fact as they stopped the next afternoon for another break. The ride had been uneventful for the most part. But things had changed after sunrise, when Erestor was finally convinced enough that they were safe from any possible persecutors.

"Are you sure you are alright?" Erestor watched Arwen, concerned, as she came out of the thick undergrowth surrounding the river. The elleth seemed to become more and more ill by the hour. It frightened him, for Erestor knew little of the arts of healing and the different causes of disease.

"Yes, I am fine." She drank a bit out of her waterskin. Wiping the excess off her lips.

"But you look so pale..." Erestor had forced her to wear her hood since this morning, thinking the sun might be causing her sudden symptoms. She was half-elven after all and her father had suffered similar bouts of illness in his days. The more delicate dispositions of the peredhil blood left him ill at ease even at times when there was no reason for concern. To find her increasingly under the weather had him drawing straws while he tried to methodically figure things out.

"It is nothing," Arwen reassured.

But as they continued on the third day, he could no longer stand to be silent. So when Erestor followed her on her break one morning only to find her doubled over a tree root he could hardly ignore it any longer.

Arwen stiffened as cool hands pulled her hair out of the way, lifting it off her warm, clammy neck. She wiped at her mouth, trying to hide the signs of her most recent bout of sickness. Equally cool skin pressed against her forehead.

"You do not seem to have a fever."

Arwen closed her eyes, which left her unprepared when the male suddenly dragged her backwards, unbalancing her until she leaned back into his sturdy chest. "Arwen..."

"Please. I do not wish to speak of it. If I do, I will only start to vomit again."

Erestor remained silent as he tipped her slighty, making her lean her head back against his right shoulder. If she had indeed been ill to the stomach this long, there was no wonder she was feeling weak. She barely kept any of the food down and the small amounts she'd been ingesting lately were scarcely enough to compensate the loss of regular, full meals.

A sharp clink of metal made her open her eyes. The familiar, silver encased flask hovered before her lips. "Drink."

Her stomach fluttered then churned. The thought of swallowing her own spit, not to mention miruvor, was all it took at the moment to make her queezy.

"I'd rather not."

Erestor's slate eyes pressed further. His hand resting the opening of the flask against her bottom lip. "Drink. Or I will make you, one way or another." Her trembling hand folded over his and caused his face to soften. "Just a sip, my Lady. That is all I ask of you."

She obeyed, then shut her face from the sun with her hands as she fought to keep the liquid down. The warmth it spread in her stomach soon soothed its cramping somewhat, but did little to ease her embarrassment. She could hear Erestor screw the stopper back in, before he let the flask back on its chain.

It was no more then a breath or two later when she felt herself lifted, her hands automatically wrapping around Erestor's neck as he carried her into the shade. Seating himself against the lone trunk, he adjusted Arwen's body so it lay cradled against his.

"Rest. We have made good time today." His smooth voice felt like silk on her ears, his hand rubbing soothing patterns down her back. "I think I can spare time for you to rest up."

Arwen buried her face in the soft fabric of his tunic, suddenly realizing how tired she felt...

"Once we reach Tharbad, I will find you a healer. Someone more familiar with human diseases." Erestor thought out loud, suddenly feeling inadequate for not being able to help such a simple thing. Perhaps he should ask Elrond to teach him, so he could avoid being put him in this same position again? Then again, the lord would probably laugh at him for asking, wondering what had roused his sudden interest healing.

Yet, Erestor was quite sure he had signed off another one of those lengthy medicinal volumes last spring before adding it to the library. He could probably find even more information if he was driven enough to do so. It would be an easy task for him to research the most common illnesses of the second born... Deciding it was a matter to decide for a later day, he continued to muse aloud: "Perhaps, word has already travelled south and your father has sent out search parties. We might be home sooner than we-"

He stopped as she recognized the soft breathing that fanned his chest. Arwen's face relaxed in sleep.

Sighing, Erestor pulled on his cloak. Wrapping the fabric protectively around the elleth. His head falling to rest on hers, eyes tracing the glittering river as it rushed past.

" _There is nothing to worry about, Princess. I will see to it."_

* * *

 **.oOo.**

Elrond stood tireless in the dark, watching the stars move over the dark sky. The routine was a beginning one that had started the day he sent his daughter to the Havens in hope of keeping her safe. Now, he stood there in askance, wondering how he should act each time he stared at the star she had been named after.

 _Arwen._

Weeks had passed since they received news of her disappearance. No word nor sign of her in the areas to which he had sent his search patrols.

Yes, many had offered themselves to search for the Eveningstar. Many of whom he had to deny just because they were more needed protecting their lands, their people against the threat looming in the east.

The opened letter lay on his desk. It had arrived far later than the conversation he had held with Galadriel just months before. The summation had been simple but formal enough to require direct action on his part.

 _'Please, send aid.'_

Elrond did not need ask to whom aid was needed. He knew Galadriel's mind almost like his own when it concerned matters such as these. Still, he would not let his son fight alone. His sons had barely returned home long enough to rest for a while before he had to send them out again. This time on a far more perrilous journey. With their horses and many of their distant noble kin, the Grey Company rode out to their fate. The elves Elrond had decided to send as reinforcements followed not many days later.

Now, with an empty house and no sons to keep him company, Elrond had to repay the favor or sending ill news.

Messengers had already ridden out earlier that week, carrying the horrible news of his daughter's missing status. Hopefully, disclosing their situation would help them in finding her. If not, Elrond did not know how he would cope. He could not deny that as more days passed, his faith in Erestor's abilities slowly diminshed. Or worse, perhaps his friend had not caught up to her at all and Arwen was starving somewhere in the wilderness... No matter how unlikely the scenario many others very similar to it plagued his mind, ruined his sleep and tore at this strength.

Elrond twisted the ring on his finger. Both Vilya and his foresight strangely uncooperative.

Would he loose all of his children to a war he did not even step foot in? Would fate be so cruel to him? Something dark twisted in his chest. Whispers of things untold brushing his mind. He gnawed at his lip, turning the flesh raw.

 _Yes_ , Elrond thought. _This was the perfect opportunity indeed for the enemy to play his cards right._

For as darkness fell in around him Elrond feared that he had played straight into Sauron's greedy hands. And he had not even known until it was all too late.

* * *

 **.oOo.**

Arwen felt the grip around her middle tighten as they rode through a small opening into the town. They had already passed small, quaint settlements along the river. But all had seemed abandoned. Now, seeing the emaciated state of the people within the town, she could understand why they hid instead of wandered about.

Dust covered windows glinted in the noon sun, some hid curious onlookers or the odd cat or two. No matter if the town was used to travellers, apparently few ever set foot in the actual town these days. An old, one eyed stablekeeper dared to walk out from beneath the wooden construction he called his own. His eye visibly startled seeing the fine if dusty horses that came his way.

Erestor bowed his head down to her ear, whispering, "Keep your hood up. There is more than a few unsavory types here. No need in gathering unnecessary attention to ourselves."

Arwen found his words strangely contradictive, considering Erestor had his head free of the dark material. Instead, his hair was tied into a messy ponytail, which fell down one shoulder. The configuration carefully hid the pointed tips of his ears out of view.

He pulled up beside the stablekeeper, his back straight as he said, "Name your price."

It sounded hilarious how Erestor intentionally roughened his speech pattern, hiding the normally noble tongue. The man might have found it odd, but still staked his price of three coppers a night. There was a moment of stunned surprise as a heavy bit of silver fell in the stablekeeps hand. Normally, the man might have questioned their appearance, but Erestor knew the extra silver would keep his mouth shut long enough.

"There's another for you when we return. I hope that's suitable?"

The man nodded. Wisely turning his head away when the tall male went to lift the shorter figure off the horse. It took another ten minutes or so before Erestor had managed to wrangle the name of a decent inn off the man's tongue. Arwen took it all in with open curiosity, as she had rarely been around other mortals except Aragorn and his kin. Her fascination was dampened somewhat when they got their room, a small thing with only one window facing the street. Arwen told herself she should not complain, for her body would gladly welcome the straw mattress and a proper ceiling over their heads. Not to mention a hot bath...

Erestor hung his cloak on one of the iron pegs. His tall form seeming more imposing with the low ceiling.

"So, how long are we staying?" Arwen asked, curious but also somewhat mortified by their current arrangement.

Erestor didn't seem to want to dignify her question with an answer as he sank to a seat on the low bed. The thing creaked with his weight, and Arwen found herself growing more uncomfortable.

Here she was, alone with a male in a town the Valar knows where, waiting for some kind of clarification as to what their current plan of action was. It was not made any better by the fact that Erestor was sitting on the only bed in the room. A bed they would have to share for lack of better options.

She chose to ignore the sudden flutter in her stomach. Instead she opted to act very unlike a lady and curse her friend's paranoia in her mind.

Erestor rubbed his face, suddenly appearing a lot older than he was just five minutes earlier.

Arwen turned, determined to distract herself as she ran a finger along the dusty mantle piece. Such a thing would have been unacceptable at home. Yet, Arwen had seen that many things in this establishment were somewhat lacking. Then again, the current dust layer covering most articles in their room should be the last of her worries.

A loud thumping resounded on their door and Erestor gracefully rose to check it. A flushed faced woman that must have been closer to thirty who had certainly seen better days – if the faint burnmarks on her neck and partly exposed bosom was anything to go by – stuttered nervously. "Your bath, Sir."

Erestor folded away from the enterance and the woman and six of her associates rushed in, carrying a large copper bath and buckets of steaming hot water, which they used to fill it. The woman, who was clearly the others' superior set a smaller basket with clean towels and soap beside it before they all simultanously bowed and left through the door, red faced as they went.

Arwen lowered her hood and raised a brow in Erestor's direction. Perplexed by their strange behavior. Erestor merely shook his head, as if too tired to deal with their strangeness. He gestured towards the bath with one hand before telling her to let him in once she had finished.

The door closed behind him. Sharp like a wake-up call despite its almost soundless nature. Arwen's face grew more and more heated as a stark realization hit her. Of course, Erestor would have to leave. She could hardly take a bath in his presence... It did not make it any easier for her though, as she imagined him standing guard on the other side of the door. Just a thin piece of wood between them...

Dropping her cloak and clothes with haste, she must have taken the quickest bath in all history of Arda. All the while trying not to imagine Erestor soon doing the same...

* * *

 **.oOo.**

Arwen never should have worried about the sleeping arrangements. Of course, Erestor was too much of an gentleman to do anything and allowed her to have the bed for herself. The elf had stubbornly and without fuss seated himself in the old chair by the fireplace to sleep. It wasn't until their third night in the inn that Arwen insisted the elf take a proper rest. It had become almost physically painful to watch the tall elf cramp himself down into the chair each night, long legs unable to find a comfortable postion and his neck without a doubt developing a crick due to the odd positioning.

Despite Erestor's protests that he had been through worse, Arwen argued that there was no point in staying at the inn at all if they were not both going to rest properly. She had not missed how Erestor would stay awake for long hours of the night, keeping watch. The habit had already put faint traces of shadows beneath those slate eyes. Something that Arwen felt increasingly guilty of.

Still, the warmth that now radiated against her back made it hard to relax.

Erestor rested with his back turned respectfully her way, which in the cramped bed meant pressing up against each other, back to back. It did allow her some decency, not that there was truly any need for any seeing how they were both fully clothed. Yet, the stiffness to his muscles told her he too felt uncomfortable by their close proximity, which was odd, considering how they had been in much more intimate positions before this.

"Go to sleep, my Lady."

The low, sleepy rumble reverberated through his back and into hers, sending shivers down her arms. Arwen pulled the thin moth eaten quilt the bed came with higher, using the improvised barrier to hide the heat she could feel on her face.

She tried to think of something more comforting to put her at ease. But as she imagined Aragorn there with her instead, who she had always felt calm and at ease around, it only succeeded in making her feel even more bothered. A deep resurfacing memory made her clench her hands together, her lips somewhat apart as she gave a soft gasp from the rush it caused. It was one she had buried deep inside her heart, too precious to forget yet too guilt inducing to leave free. She squeezed her eyes shut. Suddenly ashamed of her wandering thoughts, Arwen tried to still the sudden heat pooling down her spine, ending up in a familiar place she knew no respectable lady was supposed to think about.

Erestor had gone dead still behind her. As if somehow picking up on her thoughts. His breathing controlled and precise.

As she listened to him she found herself slowly doing something similar, taking deep and steady breaths to center herself. To calm the sudden ripples made in that long dormant lake.

Swallowing past the sudden lump in her throat, she whispered:

"Good night, Erestor."

Though, Arwen doubted either of them would have a very a good night of sleep that night. The hammering of her heart against the wall of her chest seemed to know it better than she did and Arwen forcefully closed her eyes. Imagining herself someplace else, somewhere _not here_.

* * *

 _ **#To be continued...**_


End file.
